Tales of Three
by AutumnSouls
Summary: A fire burns deep within Iris Potter, and such things must be tempered — even if it's with Albus Dumbledore's idea of education and guidance. After a disastrous end to a school year, the two find themselves tangling with old enemies, eldritch magic, time travel, and that which should have perhaps been left well alone. Morally gray fem!Harry, mentor!Dumbledore.
1. The Thief

**Note:**

This first chapter is a bit of a prologue starting before Hogwarts. The next chapter begins near the end of second year. Anything that contradicts the canon timeline is done on purpose, so just roll with it. If there are any questions you have (about this story, its summary, where this story is headed, etc) then feel free to ask these questions in a review or private message. I'll be more than happy to answer them.

Romance, like in canon, is not the focus of the story. This story is not written with any particular pairing in mind, so no final pairings are set. Again, don't come into this expecting any real focus on romance. The little there might be will be femslash.

There will be no bashing, no Ron/Hermione, no magical cores, no male slash, no Lordship/Ladyship politics, no rape scenes. I don't consider all these to be bad, simply that I've noticed them to be deal breakers for some, and so I'll note that this story won't have them.

* * *

 _Chapter One_

 _The Thief_

Iris swung her feet off the edge of the roof, looking on with wry amusement as Dudley and his gang walked off into the setting sun — she wished it was literally — with a silly kind of swagger. It was as though they thought they were rather impressive in having chased an eleven-year-old girl through the neighborhood, eventually losing her after she had somehow appeared on the fire escape of an abandoned building.

She didn't spend too much time thinking about it. It puzzled her, certainly, but such things weren't new to her; she had many of them, these strange and impossible incidents, floating about in her memory.

Iris watched the sunset for a few more moments, her sweat drying faster than what was natural, and then retrieved her cassette player from her bag along with her headphones — but she couldn't really say they were _hers_. The idea of having money to pay for these studio quality headphones was ludicrous. She had taken the cassette player, the headphones, and the cassette itself from some American — his whole bag, really.

She thought he had it coming, naming himself Q-Tip, and then mentioning how much money he had, so she hadn't felt that bad about it. Besides, she often stole to feed herself, what with her aunt and uncle kicking her out of the house every now and then; it was either resort to thievery or starve.

This wasn't exactly one of those times.

But how could she resist, when they were talking so loudly about how great some unreleased tape was?

She looked at the cassette, titled _The Low End Theory,_ put it in the player, tossed on the headphones, and laid down sideways on the edge of the roof, letting one leg continue to dangle off. As far as her birthdays went, this one had to be her best.

But her standards were never really that high.

It was as she tapped her foot, rolled her head side to side to the beat, and enjoyed the breeze that she felt something, a disturbance in the air around her. She wasn't sure how she felt it.

It was as if a pebble fell into a pond, not from a great height, and she lay in this pond, right on the surface of the water. The pebble would create the slightest of ripples, as this disturbance had done in — what, exactly? What did the pond represent? It wasn't the roof. It was in the air itself, all around her, and in her too, beneath her skin, in her bones.

It was a completely bizarre kind of feeling.

She turned her head to where she thought she had felt it, and for a moment, the tiniest of split seconds, she thought she saw something disappear into nothing… but the sun was in her eyes and she was squinting because of it, so she must have imagined it: the flicker of a figure standing there on the pavement. A trick of the mind, surely.

But the next time it happened, on the very same roof she lay upon, there was no mistaking it. It wasn't her imagination. It was as though a boulder was dropped onto the pond, and the resulting wave crashed over her.

Drenched in the overwhelming feeling, she jerked her entire body — her headphones falling off as she twisted in her position — and fell off the roof.

She slammed into the fire escape below, giving a grunt of pain.

Everything was in her bag in a second — "Iris?" called a voice from above — did it sound concerned? — and she used her boot to shatter the remaining glass on the window in front of her, sending the sharp and deadly shards both inward and outward.

She leapt through — her mind overriding caution with what she had seen as she had fallen off the roof, a man, and how he had appeared out of thin air — and fell right into the glass as her feet caught on the bottom of the window frame.

She cursed mentally as she picked herself up, sure that the glass had cut her hands. She didn't dare to look, not yet. Looking always made it worse. It wasn't as though pain was anything new to her, courtesy of the bullies she unfortunately couldn't stab, but it stopped from her continuing to flee as she had planned.

Her eyes scoured the apartment. Ruin had long ago claimed the building, she thought, as she took in the dirt, trash, and general clutter. There was nothing clean to wrap her hands in.

"Are you well, my dear?"

The voice spoke from behind her, calm and pleasant, despite the situation, and perhaps a little concerned. She was not calm, and she most certainly was no longer in a pleasant mood. The sun made it difficult to see him, but when she grimaced and turned her head, he stepped in front of the sun, shielding her eyes. Though it might as well have been the same thing, for he looked very old, too old to have snuck up on her like that, and his bright yellow robes were ugly enough to blind her. His eyes were blue and his beard was as white as snow.

"Who are you?" she said.

"Of course, I have not introduced myself," he said as she stared. "I apologize, Iris. Appearing out of thin air, why, you must be terribly confused. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I —"

"Can teleport?" Iris said. "I saw that. What'd you really do?"

If Iris herself hadn't known she had done the impossible before herself, she would have already been running for her life. But this Albus Dumbledore made her curious. And her curiosity was like the wounds on her hands; if she left it to fester, it would become infected and be much more of a bother than it was now. She had to cure it now.

"Perhaps I should show you first," Dumbledore said. "It would be a better explanation, I dare say, and would forestall any exclamations of disbelief."

He reached into his robes.

As soon as the wooden stick was in his hand and pointing in her direction, Iris's switchblade was flying through the air before he could do more.

It missed completely, burying itself into the wall next to Dumbledore.

Iris grimaced.

"Ah, it has also been quite a while since a student has thrown a knife at me," Dumbledore said, appearing rather untroubled over the fact that someone had just attempted to stick a blade through his eyeball. He gave his wand a lazy wave, and the glass on the ground lifted from the ground and drifted back to the window, piecing themselves back together in the window frame like puzzle pieces forming a picture.

But there had been numerous missing pieces before Iris had even broken and scattered them, and now the window looked fine. Whole, complete, looking as though it had always been untouched. Just like her hands.

She stared down at her healed palms, her breathing became heavier with this display of —

"Magic," Dumbledore said as his eyes met her blank stare. "Is that how you've found your way up here?" He hummed to himself. "Impressive accidental magic."

Iris snapped out of her daze. "Is that what it's called, then? What you just did? What I can do? Magic? _Actual magic_?"

Underneath the surprise there was a large explosion of disbelief that she fought to keep down, if only for foolish hope. But it did make sense. He had unnatural abilities. She had unnatural abilities.

"And what can you do, Iris?" Dumbledore asked, his stick pointing a little too close in Iris's direction for comfort.

She blinked. She had done a lot over the years. _This_ was a lot. Too much to take in.

"Plenty," she said, attempting to ease faux lightness into her tone but hearing it fall flat. "Make things move without touching them... hurt people who try and hurt me... control animals, especially snakes — just like that one behind you."

Right as he turned, she bolted toward the door. It was open — at least, until she nearly reached it. It swung closed by itself. She crashed into it and attempted to reopen it, only to find it could not open, despite the fact that both the lock and doorknob had been completely ripped off the door.

"What the —"

"I mean you no harm, Iris," Dumbledore said from behind her, and when she spun around, she saw her switchblade in one of his hands. "But I suppose you could not say the same... unless you missed on purpose, which I must say, I highly doubt."

Iris glared at him. "You used your — your magic to make my knife hit the wall."

"I certainly did not," said Dumbledore. "You simply missed."

He seemed to take her in with an odd light in his eyes. It wasn't fear. Almost caution, but not quite there. It was still peculiar, though, seeing as she _had_ missed her throw. She had no weapons left. What was he troubled by?

Iris stared at him, becoming more unnerved as he stood there, his blue eyes staring at her in such an intense manner that she thought he might have been looking through her.

"Who are you really?"

"I have told you. Albus Dumbledore. Though, you may call me Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Iris asked, taking in his appearance again. The idea of him being a professor almost made her laugh.

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said. "You see, I am the headmaster of a school. A school your parents went to and a school you will have the chance to attend, and for ten months of the year I might add. There will be no returning here for the evenings or even weekends. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a boarding school, Iris, a place for the gifted, for those with special abilities, for those of magic, for wizards and witches."

It was a fitting explanation; certainly an answer to her questions concerning all the unexplainable events in her life: magic. It was difficult to believe, and yet, at the same time, not. The term "magic" felt like an incredibly vague and broad term for it all, but who was she to argue about the details? She could hardly do "magic" on purpose.

"And I'm a — a — witch? A magician?" Iris asked, already feeling a hesitant elation at the very thought of leaving the Dursleys, leaving behind the cupboard, the small meals, the countless evenings — or outright days — where they kicked her out of the house. _If_ he was to be believed.

"The official term is witch, yes," Dumbledore said. "I am a wizard."

Iris hesitated, but then said, "Can you show me? Magic? Again?"

Dumbledore pointed his stick vaguely in her direction and her bag suddenly jerked on her back, the straps slid off her shoulders and down her arms by themselves, and the whole thing flew from her and directly into Dumbledore's hands before she could do anything.

She stepped toward him, outraged, and admittedly a little awed. "Hey! That's not —"

"The very first thing you must understand, Iris," Dumbledore interrupted, and his tone was grave now, "is that thievery will not be tolerated at Hogwarts. Please, do not lie," he added when Iris opened her mouth to do just that. "If you do wish to go to Hogwarts, to leave dreary old Privet Drive, you must abide by this rule. And many more, I might add. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Iris said instantly. Her mind was racing. How had he known? Did he see her do it? Did he also know that she had done it to feed herself? Well, not really. Not this time, at least. Was it worth bringing up?

"You will return this?"

"I — I'm not really sure where to return it." And this was the truth. She had no idea where the American was now. "I didn't steal it for that. I took it because the man said he had a lot of money. I figured he wouldn't miss it, and since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kicked me out for the day without food or money, I — well, I sorta needed it."

She didn't _live_ on the streets. She always had a bed, however uncomfortable, to come home to at the end of the day. But the fact of the matter was that she had been kicked out often enough that she had actually become what her aunt and uncle always claimed her to be: a criminal.

Dumbledore watched her fidget for a moment, then he gave a heavy, weary sigh. "Quite understandable. Many more would have done the same in your place, I am sure. Nonetheless, this will need to be returned. I will do so myself. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you will not need to worry about food. Free meals will be given three times a day — and meals they will be, Iris, feasts of innumerable foods, drinks, and desserts."

Iris stood a little straighter and nodded, trying not to betray her growing excitement and apprehension. There had to be a catch; there was always a catch. And if there was, as there undoubtedly would be — it was unfortunate she could admit this — then this wouldn't be the first time someone had offered her something she wanted but only in return for something she wasn't willing to give.

"And while we are on the topic," Dumbledore continued, "while we speak of your relatives and their treatment of you, I should explain why I am here. Around this time, you would have received an owl — our way of communication — an owl with a letter." Iris looked distrustfully out the window. "Your Hogwarts acceptance letter, to be precise. However, as our special quill wrote out your letter, I happened to be near. I took a glance, to see if everything was in working order, and I saw your name, yes, but more importantly, where you live."

Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope, yellow and made of — well, it wasn't normal paper. He walked slowly to Iris and handed it to her.

She looked down at who the envelope was addressed to: _Iris Vivienne Elizabeth Potter_.

"That's my full name?" she said. "Bit of a mouthful."

"Perhaps so," Dumbledore said, smiling as though he knew a joke she didn't. "I warned Lily and James that some might view the name as rather... pretentious..."

Iris directed her gaze at Dumbledore now.

"Oh yes, I knew your parents," he said. "It was quite amusing, their bickering as they struggled to name you. Your father wanted to name you after the Queen and your own mother. Your mother wanted otherwise. So they compromised."

"It was a bit overkill," Iris said, tracing her finger over her name on the envelope as though her parents had been the ones to write it.

"Your godfather wanted a part in your naming as well." Dumbledore smiled sadly at this. "His family named their children after stars and constellations. If Lily hadn't put her foot down, you would have been called Iris Vivienne Elizabeth Carina Potter. You'll just have to make do with only one unnecessary addition to your name. I'm somewhat envious."

"Is he dead too?"

"No," Dumbledore said, and he hesitated for a moment. "No, I'm afraid he is a murderer."

Iris laughed, but her laughter died when Dumbledore's grim expression did not change.

"Oh." Her mind _whirled_. She had so many questions popping into her head, only to be nearly instantaneously forgotten as new ones replaced them. "You're serious? But — I mean, is he —"

"There will be time for more questions later," Dumbledore interrupted, waving his hand at the envelope.

"But —"

"As you can see, it says 'Miss Iris Vivienne Elizabeth Potter, _The Cupboard Under the Stairs_.' The cupboard under the stairs is not the usual place for a child to sleep, so —"

"You came to see, yeah," Iris finished, already having opened the envelope, her mind still somewhat stuck on what was said before — on all of it. There were two letters, the first of which was an acceptance letter.

Her mind felt as though it was overloading with all the new information from the second one: robes, pointed hats (" _Really_?" she muttered), winter cloaks, dragon hide gloves (" _Dragons_?" she said a little louder), numerous books about magic, wands, cauldrons, phials, a telescope, brass scales, pets, and — "Why would anyone bring a broomstick?"

"Wizards fly on them," Dumbledore said, sitting on a chair that had not been there before.

"Not witches?" Iris asked, frowning. The idea of tossing herself into a sexist group of people who had unnatural powers that could be used to perhaps control her sounded highly unpleasant.

"Witches too." Dumbledore gave her a reassuring smile. "Wizards can be a blanket term for both wizards and witches, a gender-neutral term."

"And there's a whole — what, a whole school of them? Us?"

"Oh, much more. A whole society, really. We have our own Ministry. In Great Britain, we have approximately fifteen thousand wizards and witches. Hundreds of thousands throughout the entire world."

"And that stick you've got — is that a wand? Like from comic books? Or fairy tales? Are fairy tales real? Or are they just inspired from real magic stuff? Do I need a wand to use magic when I want to? All the times I've used it before was by accident. It just came out of nowhere. Sometimes I want it to happen again when Dudley — well, when I want it to, but it doesn't."

She took a breath to keep going, but Dumbledore stopped her from doing so.

"It is a wand, yes, and it will indeed allow you to focus your magic — although, I believe, with enough practice, a few years of it perhaps, you would be able to do the most basic magic without one. It is somewhat unusual for a child to do as powerful magic as you have described. Have you done any other kinds of magic?"

"Yeah, I think." Iris thought for a moment. "Sometimes, when I'm really angry, I think the air turns cold. But it's only happened two or three times... could be coincidence or my imagination... I turned a teacher's hair blue once. I imagine I won't be able to do that at Hogwarts, will I? Shame, you'd look dashing."

Dumbledore gave a short chuckle. "No, definitely not. Professor Snape, however, would find it a great joke. Perhaps try it on him."

"Right. I also set a snake loose on Dudley in June," Iris continued. "That was by accident though. I — I really can speak to them too. I don't need a wand to do it. Can all wizards speak to snakes?"

A moment's hesitation. A slight pause as Dumbledore opened his mouth. But Iris knew before he said that it was "Quite unusual, but… but not unheard of" that there was something wrong with the ability. Iris let the answer slide past and moved on to other questions, of her parents ("You've your father's black hair, though much less untidy, but everything else is your mother's, Lily's — your eyes, even the light freckles across your nose and upper cheeks, almost identical to your mother's"), of Hogwarts, of magical places and why the wizarding world was secluded and separated from the "muggle" world — most of which Dumbledore answered. Her questions were finally exhausted after the sun had dove mostly below the horizon, leaving a pink sky as their source of light.

"Would you like to go to Diagon Alley now?" Dumbledore asked. "The alley is ordinarily filled with wizards and witches during the day, the main street being nearly impossible to tread through, the shopkeepers tearing their hairs out at the impatience of so many shoppers coming in all at once. If we had gone earlier in the day, we would have faced exactly that."

"We?"

"Certainly." Dumbledore hesitated, in that odd way he had done before, almost unnoticeable. "Or do you wish to go alone?"

"I'm... I'm not sure." On one hand, here was an adult that seemed to actually take an interest in her, even laugh at her jokes, but at the same time… "I'm used to doing things alone. I spend most days on my own. I know how to handle myself. And you said you're the headmaster. I'm sure you've got more important things to do — wait, I don't have any money for this stuff."

"Your parents left you a significant amount of money," Dumbledore said, and Iris's eyes betrayed her great surprise. "You will need to visit Gringotts, the goblins' bank — yes, goblins are real, too — and visit your vault. Be polite but firm with them, Iris, and there need not be a problem. Are you sure you wish to go alone? I mentioned your fame, and I might have even understated it."

"I've got a bunch of money?" Iris said quietly. But her aunt and uncle had always told her she was a burden and that she wasn't worth feeding! "Isn't it a little too late now? I mean, if Diagon Alley is supposed to be in London like you said, everything will be closed before we can get there, won't it? We're already late."

Dumbledore smiled at her from his chair; she was pacing, still slightly amazed at all of it.

"Wizards never need be late," he said, "for they may arrive anywhere they want at precisely whenever they mean to. We call it Apparition. You will not be able to learn it until later. But... yes, I don't see why not."

He stood up and held his arm up to her.

Iris stared at it.

"Nice arm," she said. "Very adult-like — sir," she added at Dumbledore's slightly raised eyebrows.

"If you wish to visit Diagon Alley now, to travel there instantly, grab tightly. I do warn you, however, it is most unpleasant, especially the first time."

"Okay," Iris said, "but — er — can I get my bag back? The headphones and cassette player aren't mine, but the bag and all the books in it and everything else inside _is_."

This was a lie. Some of the comics she liked to read were taken from Dudley and his friends. But Iris cared so little for them that she didn't even bother trying to feel guilty about it. And it must've shown on her face, for Dumbledore nodded and gave her bag back, placing the stolen items inside a pocket that was far too small to carry it all.

Iris put it on her back and grabbed his arm.

* * *

The sun, the noise, and her energy had well and truly abandoned her for the night. It was quiet and dark now, nothing new for one who had spent much time in a cupboard, but it was a bit unsettling in this new and unfamiliar world.

She had explored locations at night before, but that was when she had believed the most dangerous thing around could be a lecherous man. She carried a switchblade for that reason. But could these men and women — wizards and witches — just magic it away from her? Dumbledore had done so with her bag.

It made her uncomfortable.

When a cloaked figure fled from Gringotts and passed by her, not noticing her as she was cloaked too, but in shadow, she thought it was a little less lonely. The shouts from the goblins, full of fury and bloodlust, oddly added to this sense of comfort. It filled the silence.

She assumed the cloaked figure to be a man. The robes made her slightly unsure. They looked to be too much of a hindrance, the long, loose, and baggy wizarding style of them. She was wearing black robes, a more fitting type — not that she had much of a form, but it was nonetheless much better, she felt, than having her robes catch on random things.

Like the fleeing man's just did — on a cat's claws; a white cat; her cat.

"Lily!" she hissed.

The last thing she needed now was for her cat to be blown to smithereens by some random wizard. It would be rather depressing if she had named her new cat after her mother only to get the damn thing killed immediately after. Lily, however, listened, as most animals did with her.

Iris picked her up and scratched her behind the ears, attempting to appear as casual as possible as she followed the figure — she couldn't help it — looking as though she was merely browsing the shops, at night, when the shops were almost all closed. She dragged her trunk behind her, though it didn't make much noise as it had some featherlight nonsense enchanted into it, making it weigh very little.

Even though she had already taken a very close look at every shop here, it still amazed her as she walked past them again. _Magic_. Brooms she couldn't wait to fly; cauldrons for potions she couldn't wait to brew; a holly wand with a phoenix feather she couldn't wait to use.

She had probably spent too much money. After she had seen just how much her vault contained, she couldn't help herself. She bought the very best of what she needed, her most expensive item being her trunk, which could probably fit five other trunks inside.

She had wanted a trunk with even bigger space, but the more room on the inside the more the prices seemed to grow exponentially. Those few designed to hold something like a small office were tens of thousands of galleons; hundreds of thousands of pounds, as a galleon was about twenty-six pounds, a sickle about one and a half pounds, and a knut about five pence.

Her trunk was positively dirt cheap compared to them.

Regardless, _magic was wonderful_.

The thought repeated in her head for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. Part of her still believed it all to be a dream.

As she was about to turn around to explore Diagon Alley one more time, abandoning her curiosity for the fleeing man, a figure exited the alley near her, which was marked as Knockturn Alley.

A man in dark robes. He had black hair that looked oddly reflective in the moonlight. Or it was just greasy. He stopped short when he saw her, his black eyes flickering only slightly toward her scar. His face looked like Dumbledore's had at certain points, as if he was purposely keeping it as blank as possible. All in all, he looked terribly creepy.

"Hello," Iris said lightly, as though it was perfectly normal to meet strangers in the dark of a shady alley. It probably was for wizards. "Pleasant day for a stroll, isn't it? Maybe some shopping too, and if one could fit it into their schedule, why not the robbery of the apparently most secure bank in the wizarding world?"

"What?" he asked sharply.

Iris frowned. "But the goblins would say that, wouldn't they? Great gits, goblins." She gave an uneasy laugh and hoped the man would move on.

The man looked at her as though she was mad, and then moved to walk past, unknowingly filling Iris with relief — but then he stopped and spoke, his back still to her.

"Why are you here, Potter? It's not safe. Go to the —"

"Oh, she's quite safe, Severus," said a familiar voice from behind Iris: she spun around only to come face to face — or face to beard — with Albus Dumbledore. "I have been keeping an eye on her."

"Headmaster," said the man, his tone showing only the slightest of surprise — Severus, was it? She stared in disbelief at Dumbledore as Lily hopped down from her arms and began clawing at Severus's robes. Where had he come from? His robes were still that horrible yellow and she was sure she would have taken notice of the bright color if he had been following her. Could he perhaps make himself invisible?

"You're a nosy —" She stopped, realizing what she was going to say. "I mean — I didn't — _bugger_."

"It's quite all right, Iris," Dumbledore said, smiling down at her. "I was simply worried for your safety, so I —"

"Followed me for a few hours?"

"And bought a bit of this, a bit of that," Dumbledore said, pulling out a bag of some wizard sweets. He extended the bag to both Severus and Iris, both of whom declined. "Just as you have, I see. Dear me, Severus, it appears you've attracted a lovely little thing."

"What?" Severus turning to see Lily claw at his robes. He kicked her. "Get _off_ , you stupid animal."

Iris frowned. "She's not stupid. She's my cat."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "then it appears the cat will have plenty of time to rip apart Professor Snape's robes later, so perhaps you should pick her up." As Iris did so, Dumbledore continued. "This is Professor Snape, Iris, as you now know. He will be your Potions teacher at Hogwarts."

"Oh," Iris said. "I've made a fool of myself in front of another professor then, have I? Suppose I could go for a record."

Professor Snape's lip curled up slightly as he stared resolutely ahead. "Headmaster, I have places to be. I will see you at Hogwarts." And he began to walk away.

Iris grabbed one of her cat's paws and waved it at Professor Snape's retreating form. "Professor Snape's leaving. Say bye, Lily."

Professor Snape suddenly faltered in his step, but then recovered and disappeared around a corner. Iris watched him go, puzzled. Why had he seemed so... _off_? Was she hideous or something? Of course not. She looked much better than _goblins_. Her nose twitched at the thought of the ugly little things.

Dumbledore watched Professor Snape go with a sad sort of smile. "Lily, is it? A fitting name, given the eyes." He turned back to Iris. "Though I did keep an eye on you, I did not, however, do so when you went into Gringotts. Only a fool would attempt to kidnap somebody inside halls of that which belong to goblins, so I did not think it a worthy opponent to take my time from me. How did it go?"

"They hate me," Iris said. "I probably shouldn't have asked if two goblins were brothers. They think I'm a racist or something now, but I didn't mean it that way. They didn't even let me apologize before they began insulting me."

"Hm, yes, they are often like that," Dumbledore said, chewing on one of his sweets.

"They get really creative with their insults," Iris said casually. "I even learned some new ones, wanna hear?"

"Oh, I think we can do without. I dare say I've heard enough for today, what with visiting your family — _if_ one could call them that." Dumbledore frowned. "For someone who wishes so desperately to appear sophisticated, Vernon Dursley seems to be quite the opposite."

"Which helps make you appreciate the goblins' creativity even more, doesn't it?" It then hit Iris what Dumbledore had just said. "You visited them again? Why?"

"Oh no, not again," Dumbledore said. "But I do believe I had forgotten to tell you that next summer will be, if they keep their word, and I will know if they do not, much more pleasant for you."

"I have to go back then, do I?" Iris said a little absentmindedly, not being able to fully take in the fact that Dumbledore had actually _done_ _something_.

"I'm afraid so. You will, however, be able to move your belongings to the second bedroom. They won't be able to put you back in the cupboard even if they tried." Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, as if wondering if he should say something or not. But before he could say anything, another figure came from Knockturn Alley. "Ah, Hagrid, how do you do?"

Iris turned around to see a gigantic man step up to their little group. He looked as though he could eat Iris as an appetizer.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, giving a nod. He squinted at Iris. "Hello there, nice ter meet yeh. Another student, headmaster?" His face took on a look of confusion. "Yeh almos' look like... blimey… Iris? Iris Potter? Yeh look just like yer mum!" he said, beaming at her. "Excep' the hair, of course, yeh've got yer —"

"Father's, yeah, I've been told. Who are you, another professor?" Realizing that this sounded a bit rude, Iris added, "Did you know my mum and dad too?"

"Oh yeah, I knew yer mum and dad, spent half me life chasin' yer dad away from the Forbidden Forest, an' now, I'm spendin' half me life chasin' away the Weasley twins!" He chuckled. "Yeh'll meet them at Hogwarts, they're from a good family, the Weasleys. Knew yeh'd be going soon, asked Dumbledore to lemme take yeh to Diagon Alley, but nah, he said it was importan' he take yeh. But blimey, yeh don't even know who I really am, do yeh? Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

Iris gave him a polite smile and nod. She had no idea what the Keeper of Keys and Grounds meant, so she felt somewhat awkward. She had already, truth be told, standing here with two adults — one of whom looked literally a century older than her.

"Hagrid here takes care of the many creatures that surround Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Magical and non-magical. You told me you have an affinity for animals, or was I mistaken?"

"Affinity?" Iris asked. As well-read as she was in fiction novels, some words remained beyond her.

"You find them pleasant to be around? Perhaps you prefer their company over your own relatives?"

"I prefer the company of drywall over my relatives."

Hagrid gave a kind of half-grunt, half-laugh. "The Dursleys, eh? Professor McGonagall told me all about them. Like I said, Iris, I knew yeh father — your mother too. If yeh ever want to come by me hut and have some tea, I could tell yeh about 'em. Maybe even show you some of the beautiful creatures I —"

"Okay," Iris said easily; magical creatures were one of the things that interested her most about this magical world.

Hagrid beamed and Iris couldn't help but already feel an _affinity_ for this seemingly gentle giant.

"And is that yeh cat, then?" he asked. "If I had taken yeh to Diagon Alley — well, I had it all planned out, yeh see — I was going ter buy yeh an owl for yeh birthday."

Iris scrunched up her nose. "I don't like owls. Those flat faces, huge eyes, unnatural necks, they freak me out."

Hagrid gave a great chortle. "I s'ppose they are a bit odd, aren't they?"

Iris's feeling of awkwardness faded slightly as the conversation lightened up. Hagrid was especially inquisitive about her, asking questions about how the muggles treated her, what she was looking forward to the most at Hogwarts, and she longed for a spell to create water by the end of it.

She might have worried about someone finding them like this, assuming that there was some kind of drug deal going on, if not for Dumbledore's ludicrous robes. They were revolting. Nobody would wear such a thing if they were doing anything illegal.

She thought about sneaking off while the two adults talked — about some package, how lucky their timing was, and something about a "leshy" appearing inside the "Forbidden Forest" — but decided against it. She could do with a little more magic. It was all, so far, quite fantastic, and much more exciting than even the best of her little explorations.

Just thinking of it again made her want to jump up and down in joy, which she had already done in an empty alley before. She had always loved exploring abandoned locations, going on small adventures with only her imagination as company.

And now it seemed as though imagination wasn't needed, that real, _actual_ _magic_ would do the work for her. And oh, the things she could collect as souvenirs now. Comics, old coins, cool rocks, and other odd little trinkets would become a thing of the past now, replaced by… she had no idea, really, and that fact excited her greatly.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" She yawned. "Can you take me back home?"

"Ah, of course, it is rather late," Dumbledore said, having paused his conversation with Hagrid. "And you've had quite the adventure today."

"Actually, can't I just stay at the Leaky Cauldron? They have rooms, don't they?"

"Hmm." Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at her for a few minutes. "I have spoken to your relatives, Iris. They have even given you your own room. It really is best that you —"

"I know nothing about the wizarding world," Iris interrupted.

"Nothin'?" repeated Hagrid, sounding both confused and upset.

"Wouldn't it be better if I could stay here for the next month?" she continued. "You know, experience it all more? Talk with actual wizards and witches rather than be forced to do chores from the moment I wake up?" Iris could have smirked at the expression on Hagrid's face. "Can I even get in trouble for not following your orders outside of school?"

Before Dumbledore could reply, Hagrid said, "Nah, course not."

"In that case, with all due respect, sir, no thank you." She turned around to walk away, dragging her trunk behind her, sure that Dumbledore wouldn't be too upset. She had, after all, already thrown a switchblade at him. "Wait," she said, turning around to face him again, "could you please teach me how to shrink and unshrink my trunk? According to some Malfoy kid, I can do magic here without the Ministry of Magic figuring out due to all the magic already here."

* * *

 **Note:**

Again, if there are any questions you have, then feel free to ask these questions in a review or a private message. I will respond to them all. Reviews and messages are welcome, appreciated, and encouraged. They are the greatest motivation for me to continue writing. A big thank you to the betas that looked over this: Vlaai, Mudsock, Nyx Muirinn, Temporal Knight, and Gnurd.

Below is something that didn't work as part of this chapter or the next, as it takes place in the summer before second year and I felt two time skips was unnecessary and too much, but it was also something I didn't wish to delete. So consider it a bonus scene, something that happens between Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. There's a difference here in how Iris treats Dumbledore, and it's meant to imply Iris lost trust in Dumbledore during her first year in Hogwarts.

* * *

 _Bonus Scene_

 _There and Back Again_

Mere days after her first year at Hogwarts had finished she had done exactly what she was told not to do. And it had been what she had expected. Dingy and grimy, eerie and unnerving, shady figures moving about, their glances toward her a little too curious.

She, on the other hand, had been unexpected. And for that, it maybe wasn't fair to blame the onlookers for their stares, if they were indeed out of curiosity and not something sinister. It hadn't been every day a small girl like herself visited all by her lonesome.

After a closer look, though, it had been her turn to be surprised, to be confronted with the unexpected. She had known shady trades and conversations were done here, but it was the specifics that had her pushing her jaw back into place the very first time she had ventured into the murky maze of Knockturn Alley.

Unicorn ashes and what looked like small human skulls being sold for ludicrously high prices; extravagant entertainers and their devilish dances, only exaggerated by their evil-looking masks as they moved unnaturally on a runic circle that glowed an ominous red; rope that had been slung around the necks of death-sentenced muggles decades ago being sold in exchange for dwarf livers, and _only_ dwarf livers; a man who exited a shop only to turn back around and enter it again, and again, and then repeat this over and over.

Every third step seemed to bring a new smell to her nostrils; from smoky to sweet, funky to fresh, and everything in between. It had been a bit nauseating at times.

But this was how she had felt weeks ago, and she had gotten used to it all now.

Today she came across a man sitting on a chair at the edge of an alleyway, selling human hair.

"For fifty galleons, you get Celestina Warbeck! For a hundred, the Potter girl!"

She stumbled at his words. "What?" She turned around and walked cautiously to the man, who looked as though he hadn't had a shower — or a home — in weeks. "Excuse me?"

He looked at her. "Looking to buy some hairs?" He grinned, looking up at her with bloodshot, baggy brown eyes. "Like I said, Celestina Warbeck for fifty galleons. Would sell it for more," he muttered, scratching his stubbled chin, "but she's gotten old now, body ain't what it used to be."

She wasn't sure who Celestina Warbeck was and she didn't really care. "What was that bit about Iris Potter?" she said, reaching up to touch her enchanted hood to make sure it was still concealing her face.

"Aye," the man said, "a hundred galleons."

"You're selling my — the Girl Who Lived's hair for a hundred galleons?" she asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice.

The man shrugged. "High demand. Normally I'd say two hundred, but I'm in a good mood. Whatchu want with it anyway?"

Before she could respond, another man — bearded, giant, _familiar_ — came up to the two of them.

"Yer sellin' _hairs_ now, Mundungus?" Hagrid said in a dangerous tone. "Tell me I didn' hear righ' about who's hairs yer sellin'."

"Now, now," Mundungus said, letting out a little nervous laugh, "it's nothing you have to worry about —"

"Mundungus," Hagrid growled, and Mundungus curled up in fear, "tell me yeh're only scammin' people, 'cause if I take those hairs an' find out they're real, I'm goin' to really hand you over to the Ministry this time, I swear it!"

Mundungus scooted his chair back. "C'mon, Hagrid, you know I wouldn't…"

She stood next to them, utterly bewildered, when Hagrid reached down and picked Mundungus up by his robes. Three vials fell to the ground. She dove to grab the one with three black, wavy hairs in it. Before she even straightened back up, Mundungus was thrown back into the chair and Hagrid turned on her.

"Now, yeh listen here," he said, bending over her, "hand me tha' vial or —"

She pulled down her hood. "Hagrid, it's me."

"Wha'?" Hagrid said, also straightening up. " _Iris_?"

" _What_?" Mundungus spluttered. "Potter? Iris Potter? Bloody —"

Hagrid swung his giant arm around and knocked Mundungus out. "Filthy liar, thief, swindler, and —"

"Hagrid," Iris said gently, "I think he's out."

Hagrid turned on her, looking furious. "Wha' in bloody blazes are yeh doin', Iris? Don' yeh know Dumbledore's been lookin' fer yeh fer ages now? Don't yeh know how bloody dangerous it is in Knockturn Alley?"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"I'm bein' serious!" Hagrid said, his tone split between anger and relief. "Yeh disappeared from the Dursleys and Dumbledore was worried sick!"

"Technically," Iris said, "I never went back."

Confusion replaced Hagrid's anger. "Eh?"

"I just walked straight to Diagon Alley from Kings Cross." Iris put her hood back up. "Only took me an hour or so."

His face twisted again. "Doesn' matter! We looked fer yeh! Dumbledore said yeh'd no longer be able ter spend yer summers there any more."

"Did he?" Iris gave a little kick to Mundungus. "Say, Hagrid? What did — what was his name, Mundungus? Why was he selling my hairs?"

Hagrid sighed. "Don' worry abou' tha', it's… it's none of yer concern."

"Says you. It's my hair he's selling." She played with the vial she had picked up. "It's black. I haven't had my hair black since I left King's Cross."

"What's with yer hair anyway? Why'd yeh turn it blonde like that?"

Iris ignored him and continued to stare at the black hairs. "Some way to track me down or something, maybe?"

"I though' yeh would've at leas' told _me_ ," Hagrid said in a defeated tone, "so I wouldn' have had ter worry —"

"But no, if you could do that, Dumbledore would have found me by now…"

"Iris, are yeh even listenin'?"

"I'm listening."

"Do yeh even feel bad about wha' yeh did?"

"Not really." Iris looked up at him. "Hagrid, the Dursleys are terrible. I wasn't going back to them."

"But Dumbledore said he'd taken care of it!" Hagrid said, taking her by the arm and leading her into a nearby side alley, away from prying eyes and ears. "He said they wouldn'..."

"Wouldn't what? Did he even tell you what they did?"

"Well —"

Iris snorted. "Just trusting him, are we? Maybe McGonagall will invite you to her little fan club."

"Now don' say tha'," Hagrid said, a little hotly. "There's a reason so many have faith in Dumbledore, and it ain't blind, Iris — Dumbledore's done a lotta good fer people. He's the reason I'm still at Hogwarts, why yer parents had the warnin' they did, why yer even alive, why —"

"Yeah," Iris interrupted, "I get it. _I know_ he's done a lot of good for people, okay? It was like some ingrained instinct in Remus, defending Dumbledore…"

"Hmm." Hagrid considered her. "I don' like yeh talkin' about Dumbledore tha' way… and what's this abou' Remus? Remus Lupin?"

"I'll stop, then. I get into enough arguments with Remus — yes, Lupin — about it as it is."

"Are yeh livin' with him, then?" Hagrid asked. "If Dumbledore had known tha', at leas'…"

"More like he's living with me." She frowned. "Or was. He scampered when the last full moon came along. Haven't seen him since." She nodded to the main alley and made toward it. "I'm going there right now, actually, my home — my rented room, really. Don't worry, it's in Diagon Alley. What're you doing here anyway?"

"Buyin' Flesh-Eating Slug Repellen'," Hagrid said, following her back out into Knockturn Alley's main road. "And yeh're sure it was safe, livin' with him?"

Iris scowled up at him. "I would've thought you, of all people, wouldn't have cared about —"

"Oh no! I'm not — yeh know me better than tha'. I'm jus' sayin'..."

"It's fine." Iris turned a corner and lowered her voice. "The first time I had no idea what was happening. He disappeared on the full moon, came back, and told me he was just sick. Psh. When the next full moon got near and he became jittery again, I figured it out, said I'd get him a Wolfsbane Potion... but..."

"But _how_? Wolfsbane Potion ain't jus' bought on the corner, and the ingredien's are righ' expensive. And even if yeh had them, makin' it ain't an easy task."

Iris made a dismissive sound. "I'm rich."

"Yeh ain't tha' rich. I've seen yer vault, and yeh've got money, sure, but bes' be careful —"

"I _am._ Well, mostly."

"Jus' be careful is all I'm sayin'. It'd do no good ter yeh if yeh waste yer money before yeh graduate. And Dumbledore's gon hear of this, Iris, all of it, yeh hear?"

"I hear."

As they walked, Hagrid kept her very close and glared at anyone who got a little too interested. Knowing they had to walk a straight path for a little bit more, Iris let her mind wander.

What one could do with her hair she didn't know, but it couldn't be any good, especially if it evoked such a reaction from Hagrid, who was usually fairly gentle.

A potion, of sorts, where one could put in a piece of someone's hair, pour the potion on a map, perhaps, and the potion would show where the owner of the hair was located… and maybe the reason Dumbledore couldn't do such a thing wasn't because such a thing wasn't possible, but rather that he did do it, but all the magic in the air, here in the Alleys, interfered with the results.

She could feel it. It had taken her a few days to get used to the foulness of Knockturn Alley, particularly where the darker shops lay.

Magic, though wondrous and something she wouldn't give up for anything, could frustrate her.

She knew her sense to sorcery was special (otherwise the Ministry would have an easy job of finding these dark shops), had discovered this connection her first time in Diagon Alley, and then coming upon Hogwarts, and then even more so when she had snuck into the Restricted Section, looking for information on Nicholas Flamel, and heard the whispers of the books. Hermione Granger had been unable to hear them. Indeed, not even Madam Pince knew of what she had talked about.

Though, for the life of her, she could never use this ability for anything. It was rather maddening, knowing she had a deeper connection to magic itself, but couldn't do anything with it.

"This way, Hagrid," she said, turning a corner.

Hagrid grunted. "I know the way."

It had been surprising, at first, to see how large Knockturn Alley was. It wasn't necessarily wider or longer than Diagon Alley, but more vertical. From above, the rooftops would be even with the rest, but as the streets sloped downward, the buildings did become taller. Shops, shacks, and small apartment buildings were littered above the street-level ones. The very lowest point must've been a hundred feet below Diagon Alley.

"So yeh've been here this whole time?" Hagrid gave a small chuckle. "Hidin' righ' under our noses."

Iris shrugged. "Here and there. I visited Godric's Hollow on my birthday. Figured it was appropriate."

Hagrid sighed. "Yeh could've jus' told me, Iris. I'd've taken yeh. Did yeh — did yeh visit their graves?"

"Yeah," said Iris tightly. "Saw the graves... our old home... and I met Bathilda Bagshot too. Maybe I should take you there instead, so you can hear some of the things she said about Dumbledore."

But then they passed by a building with a sign depicting only a lady on it, and the door to the shop opened. Laughter, music, and what sounded like a good time came from within. Iris slowed down and leaned backward to see inside, curiosity getting the best of her.

She went red in the face.

Inside was a topless woman, wrapping her arm around a man's shoulders. Iris had stopped in the middle of the street, unable to tear her eyes away. The woman pointed to a door in the back and began walking the man there. She held a vial of some potion, dark blue in color. And then another woman came into view, and she, too, was —

"Iris?" Hagrid's voice reached her just as the door finally shut.

"Hm?"

"Wha' are yeh — _oh_." Hagrid looked at the sign and blushed himself. "Er — c'mon — let's go."

Iris could only nod.

"And wipe tha' stupid grin off yer face."

They reached the end of Knockturn Alley in silence, Iris trying to appear more mature about the situation than she really had any right to be. While Knockturn Alley was certainly busy, Diagon Alley was lively and almost festive. The faint sound of music was pleasant, not ominous, the people unafraid to keep their chins raised and hoods down.

One particular fellow, Gilderoy Lockhart, an author and adventurer, was especially exuberant. Even his "Unfortunately the headmaster saw me doing more good protecting the world than slaving away teaching!" was joyful, though Hermione Granger's disappointment was visible even through the bustle of the crowd surrounding him.

Iris almost called out to her, but she had a feeling she'd get nothing but a lecture about not answering her letters, and living on her own, and blah, blah, blah.

Already annoyed with the imagined Hermione in her head, she turned away. She'd greet her later.

A canopy of red attracted her attention instead. Though it was as vibrant as Diagon Alley, their hair still stood out amongst the rabble. Giving her goodbye to Hagrid, who begrudgingly let her go, Iris made her way to the Weasleys.

Before she brought her hood down, she scrunched her face up and forced her hair to turn to a shade of red, a fiery copper, and her freckles to double in quantity.

She slipped off her hood, slinked into the crowd, scuttled up to the Weasleys, and slid her hand into Ginny's without wasting a second. Immediately startled, Ginny turned and tried to pull away, stopping only when she saw Iris was a girl of her age and not some random adult attempting to take her away.

Iris smiled. "Hey, sister."

Ginny blinked. "What?"

"What, you don't remember me?" Iris said, a frown playing on her face. "I thought we had fun in Romania."

Suddenly it was Iris that could have been the only Weasley girl, for Ginny had turned so red that she might as well have been a fire hydrant. But she didn't pull away from Iris. It took a moment, but when her skin resumed its normal hue, genuine excitement replaced her embarrassment.

Ginny turned her gaze toward her parents. "Hey, dad, I can't see anything! Can I sit on your shoulders?" Her brothers snickered, but she ignored them, pushing Iris forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. None of the others, not even Ron, had noticed Iris.

"Of course, Ginny, of course," Mr. Weasley said absentmindedly. He hardly looked at Iris before he took her and threw her on his shoulders. "What's next on the list, Molly?"

Iris and Ginny both laughed. It was this that alerted the mother that it was not her daughter on top of Mr. Weasley's head.

She blinked up at Iris, who smiled sheepishly. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Iris! What are you — where's Ginny?"

All four Weasley boys turned to look at her: Percy looked at her as though he couldn't believe her nerve; Fred and George looked downright proud; and Ron just looked confused, though happy to see her.

Mr. Weasley looked up in a mixture of confusion and amazement. "Iris? Is that really you? Molly, look!"

"Yes, but where's _Ginny_?"

"Right here, mum," Ginny piped up from behind.

"How'd you know it was me?" Iris asked Mrs. Weasley, tilting her head.

"Oh, you forgot to hide those eyes of yours, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now come down from there! Fred, George, one of you take her — don't think I don't know you played a part in this."

Fred and George, both of whom had genuinely no idea it was Iris, gaped at their mother. Iris cackled.

"And the other," Mrs. Weasley continued, "put Ginny on your shoulders. They're both terribly short."

Iris stopped laughing. "Hey."

And then they were off, the Weasleys-plus-one, shopping and talking ("Are you going to be spending this year's Christmas with us, too, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked hopefully) and eventually meeting up with Hermione. To everybody's slight surprise, Iris's summer had been mostly uneventful (" _See_ , I can stay out of trouble!").

And any potential trouble they ran into was quickly dealt with. Draco Malfoy had shut his mouth and ran off almost instantly when Iris had shifted her hair back to black and glared at him; he clearly hadn't forgotten her hexing his nose, ears, lips, and fingers off — each on a separate occasion. Gilderoy Lockhart had spotted her with her black hair, but as he did a double take, Iris shifted it back to red. She also made sure to stay outside with Hermione when the Weasleys went into Gringotts, not wanting to cause any issues with the goblins for them. They never did like her.

The day, it was safe to say, went splendidly. So it was with a grin on her face that she went to bed that evening, sure that she wouldn't forget the day anytime soon.

* * *

 **Note:**

Remember, roll with whatever is written. I haven't made any mistakes. Lockhart isn't teaching at Hogwarts, Iris went to Romania with the Weasleys for Christmas, etc. It's all intentional.


	2. What Lies Unseen

**Note:**

Some people are reading this under the assumption that it's a rewrite. Please don't. This story is its own thing, so don't have any expectations that are based on Iris Potter and the Goblet's Surprise. Also, fuck JK Rowling's capitalization patterns. I'm following my own.

I'd greatly appreciate reviews of any and every kind, as they motivate me to write. And a thank you to my betas for this chapter: vlaai, mudsock, temporal knight, and nyx muirrin.

* * *

 _Chapter Two_

 _What Lies Unseen_

A curious sight was to be found at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The scene might have been perfect for a painting. Perhaps a magical painting, where the thestrals moved with a ghostly grace and the trees of the Forbidden Forest swayed in the wind conjured by the approaching storm. It was visible over the distant treetops, where branches stabbed at dark clouds and lightning bit back like serpents of deathly light. And in the lower center, with her back to the observer, would be Iris.

Or maybe not.

Maybe it was better that she wasn't included, for that was how she felt at that moment: out of place, unsuitable, and simply _off_. It had been months and months after her wonderful day with the Weasleys, of which she reminisced now, an escape from the dark and ominous moods of more recent days.

She gazed at the view in front of her. It, too, felt off; if one knew the terrible truth. The Forbidden Forest looked almost inviting from the outside, a stark contrast to the skeletal thestrals looming in its shadows. But appearances could be deceiving. That which looked deadly could often be harmless, and that which looked harmless could often be deadly. She knew this.

The thestrals were fine. Yes, they only showed when one witnessed and understood death, but they were like dogs if anything; typically well-tempered unless provoked. They did not deserve their foul reputation. She could see them, now, after she had driven her switchblade deep into Quirrell's melting stomach.

The Forbidden Forest was the exact opposite. From the outside, it looked fairly ordinary. Like any other forest, if one didn't know what horrors lurked behind the thick trees deep within. But she knew. She had found out the day before, when Hagrid's asinine advice had brought her to the edge of a death trap.

She had stayed only long enough to study them, the beastly acromantulas, to observe how they made their way into a hollow at the center of their colony. Observe was all she had done, however.

Rather than charge in and get herself severely injured, if not outright killed, she went back and tried to plan. She had always been a kind of underdog in life, so it was simply best to retreat, lick her wounds if need be, and dismantle the problem bit by bit, little by little, in a way that she, as small and unimpressive as she was, could handle.

Only she had no idea how to dismantle an acromantula colony.

No good idea, anyway.

But they, according to Hagrid, had _answers_.

But what did Hagrid know?

He had left her with nothing but a slobbering dog, a spidery path to her demise, and a bunch of magical creatures that needed looking after. Thestrals, which didn't really need caring but were so spoiled by Hagrid that they wouldn't leave her alone anyway; hippogriffs, which she liked to ride now after McGonagall had taken away her broom as punishment; a larger slobbering dog, which might as well have been three — or a dozen, considering each of the three heads drooled as much as four normal dogs; the numerous smaller creatures that lurked around and in Hagrid's home.

And then there was the dark blue phoenix that liked to watch her from the branches. Though Iris couldn't say she needed to take care of the bird. If anything, the phoenix watched her as a parent might a child, ready to jump in at a moment's notice should things go awry.

Appearing in her first year, drifting down from the skies above and singing an oddly mournful note, it had never stopped coming around to watch. Simply watch and nothing more. Iris never understood why. Hagrid had never seen it before that point either.

"Am I interrupting you?"

The voice, airy and dreamy, did indeed interrupt her brooding. Iris turned her head to take a look at the girl, blonde, Ravenclaw, and eccentric in appearance.

"Hello, Luna," she mumbled.

"You know my name," Luna said, sounding half-puzzled and half-matter-of-fact.

Iris gave the smallest of shrugs as she turned back to the thestrals. "Two Ravenclaws were talking about taking a Luna Lovegood's things and then locking her out of Ravenclaw Tower. They described you." It was more _made fun of_ than simply _described_. "I took a guess."

"But nothing of mine has been taken recently…"

Iris bit back the urge to sigh and asked, "What are you doing, Luna?"

"Oh, I thought you could use some company," Luna said, seemingly not at all bothered by the sudden change in subject. "I saw you feeding the thestrals."

"You can see the thestrals?" She had thought — _hoped_ — she was one of the very few younger years, if not the only one, who could see them; though she supposed seeing someone pass from old age would pass for seeing death. "That's rather unfortunate."

"I find them pretty." Luna sat down next to Iris.

Right next to her.

Iris moved her arm so it wasn't so connected to Luna's own. "Er — I came out here to be alone, so if you could just..." She made a shooing motion with her hand.

"I come out here to not be alone," Luna said. "Usually I can talk to Professor Flitwick, but sometimes he's busy, like now."

Iris wasn't sure if she'd call getting Petrified being busy, nor did she know how she hadn't ever noticed Luna out here before, but she said nothing. After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, Iris got up to leave.

"You can feed the thestrals the rest of the meat, if you want. Just make sure not to —"

"I know," Luna interrupted. "I feed the thestrals too, usually when I'm feeling lonely. That's rather often."

Iris looked down at her with narrowed eyes. "Are you guilt tripping me? You must not know me at all." She nudged the bucket of meat toward Luna with her foot. "Don't spend too long out here, that storm looks mean."

Luna mumbled a quiet apology and Iris turned to walk away, forcing down the guilt she felt at the flash of disappointment in Luna's large, silvery eyes. But she wasn't looking to make friends. Not now.

Already a few paces away, she heard Luna say something to herself.

"The thestrals and trees will have to do, then..."

Iris paused in her walk, and turned to look at Luna as she picked up a bit of meat from inside the bucket and tossed it toward a thestral.

"Sorry?" she said, her mind bringing forth the times she felt as though the trees of the Forbidden Forest were moving of their own accord. "What did you say about trees?"

Luna turned her head to her. "Oh, just that thestrals and trees are sometimes decent company. Not much for conversation, but they do listen."

Iris searched her mind. The unnatural bending in the absence of wind, the way the centaurs spoke of them, the way the magic, otherworldly and strange in its nature, brushed up against her very being when near the particularly ancient ones.

She wasn't sure if she liked the thought of listening trees, eavesdropping on her, whispering to each other when she was away, in her common room, throwing the wood of their relatives in the fire to warm herself.

Iris almost snorted in derision as she made her way back, plans of maybe visiting the library brewing in her head, though they kept being poked with the silly words of the Ravenclaw. She was being stupid. She had heard talk of Luna Lovegood, and here she was, accepting her words like a fool.

Giving the forest, the thestrals, and Luna one last glance, all three of them creeping her out now, she entered the castle.

Laziness winning over motivation, and knowing Madam Pince would be attempting to glare holes in her back the entire time, the horrid hag, she settled for Gryffindor Tower.

"Password?" said the Fat Lady.

Iris looked at the Fat Lady, unimpressed. "Medusa." She climbed into the common room. "And they call me insensitive..."

The common room was rather subdued. The fact that they had a Quidditch game tomorrow, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, did nothing to boost anyone's spirits. Perhaps this had something to do with Ron and Ginny, two of Gryffindor's biggest Quidditch fans, being Petrified.

Upon her entry, she caught Seamus and Dean's conversation as they sat at a table, working on homework.

"It's got to be some serious Dark Magic if it can take out Professor Flitwick," Dean said.

"It must go beyond dark," Seamus said. "What did Professor Lupin say in Defense? There's that level of magic that's even worse than Dark Magic."

"Black Magic," Faye Dunbar said from the table over.

Iris walked up to them. "Black Magic?" She looked at Dean. "You created a branch of magic and didn't tell any of us?"

"Bugger off," said Dean.

"But before you do that," said Seamus, "have you seen Scabbers anywhere? We've been looking for him, and… well, we haven't been able to find him."

Iris shook her head slowly, unable to remember the last time she had seen the rat. "No, not today."

"No one saw him in the girls' dormitory?" asked Dean.

"Her cat hates Scabbers, Dean," said Seamus. "You've heard the fights over it, with her and Ron." He sighed. "Nevermind then. We just realized that we hadn't really looked out for him since Ron got Petrified. And you know Scabbers, he needs someone to make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

"Morals getting the better of you, huh?" Iris said with a waggle of her eyebrows. "Hate when that happens. But no, haven't seen him in a while."

Seamus smiled halfheartedly and got back to his homework.

Declining Lavender's request to "pretty her up" ("As if she needs it," said Parvati), she made her way up the spiral staircase.

As she wandered to her bed, her thoughts did the same. In the most secure part of her trunk, buried beneath much clothing and other rubbish, lay three vials.

She walked to the trunk, and this time, instead of dismissing the idea with a laugh like she had when Colin Creevey had been Petrified, she tolerated the thought of using what she possessed. It could help. If Hermione knew something, as she had suggested before she ran off to the library to get herself Petrified, then they could end this whole Chamber of Secrets mess before anyone was killed.

Was it worth using one of the vials to make sure Hogwarts never closed?

Could it even work?

Would there even be any more attacks with the term coming so close to its end?

First making sure nobody else was in the room or coming up the stairs, she opened the lid of her trunk and reached in. Her entire arm disappeared inside, and she had to turn herself to really dig in, but eventually, her fingers reached a crumpled envelope.

She took it out, opened it, and slid the contents out onto her bed: a letter and three vials, each containing a dark red potion that pulsed with an inner glow, as though a small beating heart rested in the center, turning the color bright for a moment, like a finger above a wand light.

She unfolded the letter and read it again.

 _Dear Miss Potter,_

 _I write this letter to you as a thank you for your efforts in saving the "Philosopher's Stone" from that pesky dark wizard, Lord Voldemort. It was not an easy task, I was told. Indeed, your efforts nearly killed you, did they not? It is what my good friend, Albus Dumbledore (you might know him), told me, but Merlin knows that man can twist the truth better than Perenelle._

 _Nonetheless, you risked a great deal to save what did not need saving. So it is with some great guilt that I write to you, with not only the aim of curing myself of this guilt, but to gift you a little something for your troubles. Within the envelope, as I'm sure you've seen already, are three vials of the Elixir of Life. Rest assured, I made certain that each can only be opened by you._

 _Worry not how._

 _Use them for what you wish. It will pause your aging, cure you of any diseases, heal all scars it is poured on — use it on yourself, use it on a pet, use it on a garden, dangle them in front of Albus's nose, do with it whatever it is you wish to do._

 _If you wish for anything more, I'd be more than happy to —_

 _Ah, my wife tells me I mustn't attempt to adopt any more children. I should scrap this letter and start anew, but alas, no time for that! Places to be, things to do! I'm not getting any younger, you know._

 _A middle-aged man,_

 _Nicholas Flamel_

Iris huffed out a laugh.

He had no idea she had seriously considered taking the Stone for herself, no idea that she had no intention of living only two centuries at most. The idea of living to see what would become of the world was too appealing to pass up. She wasn't opposed to death itself, not exactly, but rather the timing of it.

When she had casually mentioned her plan to Hermione, she had been forced to play it off as a joke, due to Hermione's indignation.

Hermione, who had been incredibly annoying at first — and had continued to be even after the troll — and after she had set Snape on fire — and after she had let her go after the Stone. Really, she was still quite annoying. And yet, Iris still found herself coming back to her.

She supposed there was something to be said about two loners and empathy or whatever.

Sometime later, after she had stared enough at the Elixirs and packed it back into her trunk, the rest of the girls came in and went to bed. Iris, however, could not sleep. A part of her, the part that went after Quirrell to protect the Stone, kept telling her to use the Elixir on Hermione.

The other part, the one which had wished to take the Stone for herself, insisted that it was unlikely for any new attacks to happen before the Mandrake Restorative Potion was finished and she should just save the vials for herself.

Still, she had an uneasy feeling...

After tossing and turning in bed for what felt like hours, her mind doing the same, she sat up. There was no harm in making sure there'd be no more victims, was there? And there was always the chance of Hogwarts being closed over the summer, if the Board of Governors felt it was unsafe for students to return.

Blowing her hair out of her face, she swung her feet off the bed.

Besides, she apparently wasn't on speaking terms with sleep at the moment, insomnia having swung by, so she might as well make some use of her time. But she'd have to be careful. It wouldn't do to be eaten by giant spiders.

But before she could do anything else, she heard something.

Soft footsteps.

She could hear them, just barely. A house-elf, not unusual in its visibility after midnight, was cleaning and picking up the dirty clothes the girls had laid out. Perfect. House-elves weren't able to be called upon by the students, but they usually didn't mind doing what was asked of them if they were already around.

"Psst!"

The house-elf, old and with long white hairs protruding from his bat-like ears, looked over to her. Her grin faltered. The elves were usually a rather cheery lot — at least in the kitchens — so it was somewhat unusual to see this one stare at her impassively. Maybe it was Snape's elf.

"Hey — sir!"

This got a proper reaction, though it was one of bewilderment rather than the joy she had been hoping for. He walked slowly to her anyway, appearing slightly wary.

"Yes, miss?"

"I need a favor," Iris said. "A small one."

He nodded slowly.

"I need a book, from the library — I believe it's called _Moste Potente Potions_. You'll find it in the Restricted Section of the —"

"We is not allowed in the Restricted Section," the elf interrupted, shaking his head and causing his long droopy ears to swing. "Only to clean, miss, only to clean."

"Yes, _well_ ," Iris said, "this book's rather dusty and it needs a bit of cleaning." But the elf shook his head again. "Fine, then forget — hold on, wait a moment…" She leapt out of bed and moved to Hermione's trunk. Opening it, she dug around inside. "Aha! Knew you weren't going back to the library just to return a book…" She returned to the elf and waved a piece of paper. "See this? It's a signed piece of paper from Professor Binns stating I'm allowed access to the Restricted Section."

Lavender groaned from her bed. "Keep it quiet, Iris…"

Ignoring this, Iris slid the paper into the house-elf's hands. He looked down on it, frowning, before disappearing from view. It was so much for that, she could only think for a moment, before he popped back in, carrying a heavy book.

"Excellent!" she whispered. "Hey, where's the paper?"

"Booky is leaving it on Madam Pince's desk, miss."

"Heh. Thanks for getting the book, Booky."

The elf nodded, not catching or understanding her amusement, and returned to cleaning and gathering up all the dirty things, robes, socks, bras, and the like.

Iris settled down back on her bed, cracking open the book — dusty indeed — and looking for what she wanted, a solution to the little biting problem acromantulas had. She found it fairly quickly, something that could work.

 _Black Blood._

 _Though it burns in the veins, it is harmless to the drinker when their blood becomes like acid, proving often lethal to any who attempt to feast on it. It has proved to be particularly effective in driving away hungry vampires, though it will not kill them, as vampires can only be killed by werewolves, their own kin, and other exceedingly malignant or fatal magics._

Iris stopped reading soon after. Not only was this too complicated, but many of the ingredients were beyond her reach: a drop of acromantula venom, an ounce of boomslang venom, half a dozen aconite leaves, ten leeches, essence of dittany, and a ground-up bezoar.

Though still disappointed, she had expected this. There were undoubtedly spells and potions that would make her job here as easy as annoying McGonagall, but were as difficult to create as it was to make Snape even acknowledge her.

It was another poison she settled for. Though lethal to the drinker, it was meant to take some time for death to finally come knocking, meaning she needed an antidote as well. And as the book specifically stated a bezoar would not work, there were two potions she had to brew: the Bloodroot Poison and the Blood-Poisoning Antidote.

The only problem was, as she began to learn well over an hour later, she seemed to be quite good at making poisons, and quite terrible at making the antidotes. It seemed that the only way her cauldron's contents could get even more useless was if she emptied it and put Neville in it.

"Figures," she murmured after dumping the fifth failed batch out the window; the storm had passed. "Lethal potions? Easy. Life-saving antidotes? Nope, that's where your strengths end, Iris."

She huffed in frustration.

There was the idea of theft, but she doubted Snape's indifference to her existence extended so far as to let her steal something from him. There _were_ unconventional methods to her problem, of course…

She pointed her wand at her trunk.

" _Accio Blood-Replenishing Potion_!"

Nothing happened.

Huffing again, she got up and retrieved the Blood-Replenishing Potion that had happened to fall into her pocket earlier that year. She wasn't entirely sure if such a thing could work, bleeding out a poison, but she could always visit Madam Pomfrey if it didn't. True, she'd have to explain just where she got the Blood-Replenishing Potion from (the hospital wing), and why exactly she was poisoned, but it was better than death. Probably.

Still, she felt inadequately prepared.

She looked around the room.

"Booky, you still there?"

:

The Forbidden Forest was as terrible as it ever was during the night. Silent and seemingly empty, though Iris knew better. Dark but apparently harmless, though the shadows felt ravenous. Not even the moonlight bled through the treetops, but they were never fond of sharing, day or night.

But she didn't need moonlight; she needed a familiar face: that arcane phoenix. Ten minutes into her search, though, she stopped bothering. It would come to her if it wanted to be found.

While she waited, Iris checked her bag to make sure she had what she might need. It was all a failsafe, of sorts.

Awful Eyeful, something especially nasty to anything with many eyes... and if said thing didn't have eyelids, all the better. Bloodroot Poison and its unorthodox and slightly stupid remedy, a switchblade (she didn't trust her own Cutting Charms) and the Blood-Replenishing Potion. And Dragon's Delight, a mixture that was all right in moderate or large quantities, but a few drops on their own…

Well, the name spoke for itself.

The silence eventually became so heavy that Luna Lovegood's words came to her more like a whisper than a thought: _Oh, just that the trees are sometimes decent company. Not much for conversation, but they do listen._

She hesitated.

There was no one around — or so she assumed and hoped — so it couldn't hurt, could it?

She walked to the nearest tree, a little warily, and looked directly at the bark, feeling immensely stupid.

"Well?"

There was nothing.

As she rolled her eyes, however, she caught something in the branches above that nearly made her jump.

Its dark blue plumage nearly blending in with the dark treetops, the phoenix looked down on her again like a parent watching its child. The bird's blue eyes were bright like the moon in the night sky; and the moon itself shone down to play on her feathers like it might on the lake; and as it did on the lake, it illuminated the phoenix like some divine being.

Though Iris somewhat wanted to, it was too elegant and beautiful to scoff at.

They stared at each other for a moment before the phoenix sung its familiar note, mournful and yearning, sending a ripple of _something_ through both her and the forest around. The hunger of the shadows receded.

And there was something more beneath it all, as always, though Iris was not able to think of how to describe it accurately; as always. She wasn't even sure if she understood the feeling itself, though it stirred something deep within her.

But then, as it drifted down from its branch and onto her arm, feeling as light as a feather, it sang again, and suddenly, inexplicably, she could put it into words.

There was a kind of distinct sense of familiar comfort, but with an underlying loneliness. It called up the image of something that was once beautiful and majestic, but had fallen into despair and ruin, of forlorn entropy and nostalgic melancholy.

The purpose of all this was lost to her, but in its familiarity it brought up another image.

Of Hogwarts.

Her home and haven, tainted by the ill-rumored monster of Salazar Slytherin and the general depressing nature of the Petrifications. And this phoenix, mesmerizing in its mystique, sympathized with her. _Somehow_.

As though reading her thoughts, it nuzzled its cheek against hers and sang another note.

This time, when it coursed through her, she latched onto it. It surged through her like electricity — enthralling, enchanting, exciting. She lost herself to the feeling. But slowly, regrettably, it began to dwindle away, and when Iris came back to herself, the phoenix was gone and she found herself alone.

Or so she thought.

"It is curious."

Iris jumped in fright. She looked around, but could see nothing; nothing until some tall bushes shifted and from them came the source of the voice: a centaur, his horse body that of gold and his hair more so, flowing down to his shoulders and over his proud chest.

"Firenze!"

"Iris Potter," Firenze said, thinking her exclamation nothing but a greeting.

Iris took a deep breath. "What're you doing here? And what's curious?"

"You are curious." He took a few steps closer. "It is odd, Iris Potter. Only once before have I seen Avalon interact with a human."

"Avalon?"

Firenze stared at her. "The phoenix. Since you have come to the school, she has spent considerable more time in the forest, something most unusual. Do you mean to tell me you do not even know her name?"

"Course I know her name — I've just always called her Evelyn," Iris lied, feeling somewhat defensive. "Avalon, Evelyn, whatever."

Perhaps Firenze knew it to be a lie, for he did not stop staring at her; the moment in fact stretched out so long, for Iris was stubborn in not letting the uncomfortable silence urge her to speak, that they both heard the beginning of phoenix song off in the distance, toward the direction of the acromantula colony.

This finally made Firenze speak again.

"Unusual indeed. Little has Avalon stayed in this forest, littler has she interacted with humans, and never has she helped one. And yet she does so now. I see now why Neptune is bright tonight."

"Do you?" Iris said, looking away in impatience. She did not wish for the phoenix to find itself — herself — impatient with her, Iris, for wasting time on vague nonsense.

"Very bright."

"You know," Iris began, walking backward now, "if I had known centaurs had such excellent eyesight, I might've just replaced my eyes with yours rather than dropping a hundred galleons to only fix my own." She spun around and gave a wave over her shoulder. "Bye, Firenze, got things to do!"

The centaur followed her.

"Though it may symbolize water," he said, "Neptune is not bright for a quenching of your dry tone with me."

Iris looked behind her in surprise, a laugh bubbling out. "So you ponies have a sense of humor after all. Who would've thought."

Firenze did not smile. "You march into the spiders' den, Iris Potter, with Avalon and her song by your side."

"Yep."

"I'm not surprised as I perhaps should be."

"Careful there, any more jokes and I might begin to suspect you're just two funny blokes in a costume."

"Yet," he continued, "I grow more curious. The stars are vague and do not tell me much of why Avalon leaves her realm and joins ours as often as she does now."

Iris looked toward where the phoenix continued to sing. "Realm?"

"The Dreamlands, Avalon's home. I have not been there, and seldom has she left it before you, Iris Potter, arrived to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He didn't elaborate.

"The _Dreamlands_?" Iris turned as she walked and talked. "A realm where phoenixes stay?"

"A realm where Avalon stays," Firenze said. "It is a world created not through collision of celestial bodies but by the great magic of the most powerful of ancient times long past, and it is more separated from us than we are from non-magical humans. Such is the magic that our bodies would collapse and crumble sooner rather than later. Nay, we cannot visit. Though there are perhaps more we are ignorant of, we centaurs know only of the nymphs that live there: dryads, merpeople, veela, and — why do you laugh? I do not jest."

" _Nay_ ," said Iris in amusement. "Sorry, horse joke. Continue."

Firenze frowned. "I do wonder when you will run out of them."

"I can only use them on you," said Iris, lowering her voice; they were nearing the border of the spiders' nest now. "The other centaurs would riddle me with arrows."

"We do not hurt foals," said Firenze, not bothering to crouch by the fallen tree Iris had hidden behind. "Yet it seems as though you seek to hurt yourself. Why do you journey the forest this late at night, and into something most deadly?"

"I need some answers." Iris glanced sideways at him. "You wouldn't happen to know what's been attacking students up at the castle? If the school closes, whatever it might be is bound to make its way into the forest for food, you know."

Firenze looked upward. "Mars is becoming ever brighter with each passing day." Why he bothered to look to the sky when it was hidden by treetops Iris didn't even try to guess. "The conflict will be resolved soon." He looked back down at her. "Do you truly wish to enter this nest of spiders?"

"Not really."

"Yet you will."

"You know me."

"Not particularly," said Firenze, his gaze as impassive as always. "Nor do I know what lurks in your school. Good luck, then, Iris Potter. This is where I must leave you. I cannot help you with your journey tonight, but you remain not alone."

And with that he turned and began to trot away.

Iris returned her attention to the phoenix song, the nature of it inducing an almost dreamlike feeling in her, and then just as swiftly turned back to Firenze. "Wait!"

Firenze slowed and stopped.

"Doesn't Neptune also symbolize dreams?" she said.

Firenze looked back at her, and then he gave his first smile of the night. He did not speak. He simply smiled and then left her. Iris almost asked him to stay, to come with her, but stopped herself. This was a task for her and her alone. There was no need to risk someone's life if this all turned out to be entirely useless.

Hagrid was in Azkaban anyway. As for the teachers: she was fairly sure they'd all declare Hagrid's tip, if it was a tip at all, as hogwash and something not entirely unexpected from Hagrid (and she couldn't blame them). All except Dumbledore, and he had disappeared to who knew where.

But this was unimportant now. As she stood, gathering her courage, the phoenix and her song came nearer, bringing with it the acromantulas. She crouched down again, spotting the spiders as they neared. They did not see her, for they were far too focused on the phoenix.

Iris couldn't blame them.

It was music of great beauty and power. It raised her hairs on end, turned her own perseverance into song, and filled her with such a fierce determination that she wished to do battle with the beast now, to finish it, and the Heir, all at once.

The cobwebs only a vague white amongst the trees, Iris took two vials from the back pocket of her jeans. She read the labels she herself had put on it, Dragon's Delight and Bloodroot Poison. She drank the latter.

The other she opened.

The leaf she tested it on slowly began emanating a red smoke. She took a few steps back, pulled out her wand, and aimed directly at it.

" _Incendio_!"

The effect was immediate. A plume of fire erupted into the air like a geyser, illuminating the area like red lightning. The trees around gave a sharp groan, as though irritated. Iris did not feel sorry about what she might have to do, and so she waited for the fire to die down and for the spiders to move away, and then continued to pour the Dragon's Delight near the edge of the colony.

If all went wrong, it would serve as a barrier, if only a temporary one.

A troubling thought then arose: Were acromantulas immune to fire? In hindsight, she realized with a weak little laugh, that seemed the sort of thing she should have researched.

When she was done, Iris had to force herself forward — into the forbidding, perilous nest of acromantulas; the jarring transition from the music's beauty to focusing on what might be her path to death made her feel almost nauseous.

Nothing came down from the great webs above as she snuck into their home, but she kept a firm grip on her wand and Awful Eyeful mixture anyway. The glass might've been close to shattering.

When she felt confident enough there really was nothing around, she lit her wand and picked up the pace. She needed the light to see and walk, but the light made her an easy target. An easy target for giant, hairy, monstrous spiders that would feast on her skin, her eyeballs, her heart, her bones — and still be hungry afterward.

She tripped.

Her wand fell into the dirt, the tip digging in and vanishing the light, but her sudden dip into darkness mattered not, for her breathing surely threatened to reveal her to everything in the forest. It was not any physical exertion that brought so much oxygen into her lungs, but the reality of it all: spiders, so many, so big, all around.

If Avalon was any sort of decent being, if she was a _proper_ phoenix, she would take Iris by the cloak and fly her out of here and smack her across the head for her stupidity.

But this was the only thing that made sense; the spiders she was meant to follow all came here, in the misty, domed web at the center of the hollow, and she had no other leads.

When she finally arrived, out of breath, adrenaline pumping, and her heart feeling as though it was about to explode, she knew the Bloodroot Poison was at work. She was fitter than she was showing now.

This was it, the place that held answers. And if it didn't, she'd seriously consider feeding Hagrid to these creatures.

Her wand held to the side, to avoid blinding herself — she had learned that the hard way — she entered. Her light extended only so far. The first thing she noticed was the stone on which she stepped, and then on the walls. This wasn't simply a domed web, but rather the domed web was an entrance. An entrance to a cave.

Next were the carvings. She brushed her fingers across them, their tips numb from the poison. They were like caveman drawings, and though the thought seemed absurd, they clearly came from acromantulas rather than ancient men.

Many were of crudely drawn spiders feasting on animals and people. One drawn figure, larger than the others, was suggested to be Hagrid, a brown substance smeared around the head.

She flinched at the hooting of an owl outside.

Iris nearly missed the serpent. It was faint amongst the others it weaved around, as though it was meant to be buried beneath the copious conspicuous carvings. It wasn't a skilled or detailed drawing — the opposite, really, as if a child had made it, the lines like snakes themselves, slithering and struggling to stay smooth.

"Fascinating," she murmured.

"Indeed."

She had jumped in fright for what must've been ten times that night, but this time, in this dark cave, where surprise could mean death, she twisted and slashed her wand through the air. Whatever it was — skill or instinct — it caused a quick, illuminating, but ultimately useless flash of fire to erupt from her wand. Useless except for the fact that it lit what her Wand-Lighting Charm did not.

And what had been standing in the shadows, just beyond the reach of her light, was utterly terrifying. Larger than all the others, the size of an elephant, it caused her heart to leap into her throat and petrify her, as though this was the monster from the dreaded Chamber of Secrets.

What a terrible idea this was.

"But there are more pressing matters," the spider said, shifting closer. "It is not often I have men, much less women, walk so boldly into my home. What brings you here?"

Iris backed up into a wall and swallowed. "I needed answers." Her voice came out steady, despite the fact that her hands, numbing ever more, were trembling. She wasn't sure if it was the fear or the poison. It was convenient that the spider was blind, though that did not stop him from nearing. "I was told I'd get them here —"

"Who told you?" the spider said, now towering over her. "Speak."

"H-Hagrid." Her voice betrayed her fear now.

"Hagrid?" he repeated, sounding surprised. "For what reason would Hagrid send you here?"

"Follow the spiders... He — he told me to follow the spiders if I wanted to find out some — er — stuff."

"And so you come here for your answers. Did Hagrid only tell you to follow the spiders or to come to Aragog in particular?"

"Er — just follow the spiders," Iris said. "Aragog?"

"My name... But tell me, who has captivated my children with song? Was it you?"

Iris shook her head, but then realized he could not see it. She was about to speak the same answer, but it felt more prudent to let Aragog believe he was surrounded by his children, not all alone with her.

"Yes," she said after a suspicious stretch of silence.

"Ah, so they wait outside."

Iris suddenly felt giving Aragog confidence was the worst thing she could do. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Aragog said. "What do you mean, woman? Where are they?"

"I don't know." She lowered herself against the wall. "Still spelled?"

Aragog withdrew and clicked his pincers furiously. "Spelled? _Still_ spelled?" His voice was strained, as though his sudden movement pained him. "And that is what else you are here for, then? To kill us?"

Iris straightened her back and swallowed her pounding heart back down. "I'd rather not. Too much effort. But ever heard of something called Awful Eyeful?"

Aragog paused. "No," he said after a moment of apprehension. "What is it?"

"Kind of self-explanatory," she said. "A magical gas of sorts — blinds any eyes that comes into contact with it. Minimal effort, maximum damage. And as spiders don't exactly have eyelids…"

"You would blind yourself."

"I've got eyelids. You can't eat me, you can't kill me, and you can't make me leave without blinding yourselves — I've got the upper hand here." She took a deep breath. "Besides, all I want is a few answers. Nothing more."

Aragog lowered himself to the ground. "Speak, then."

"The Chamber of Secrets," Iris began immediately, still keeping an ear out for any retreating acromantulas. "What do you know of it? Where it is, how to get in, what the creature is —"

"And why is it that you wish to know of these matters?"

"So I can stop it!" Iris clenched her fists partly to stop her fingers from their continuous shaking, partly to see if she could still feel them (hardly), and partly out of furious determination. "The Chamber has been reopened and the monster from within is loose once more. I hear it speak when it moves and it's _hungry_. If there's no school, its greatest source of food will be _here_ , the Forbidden Forest. And _you_ , Aragog, _I don't think_ , have proper protection." Iris took another deep breath. "It's not just me, or the school, or Hagrid who's in trouble. It's you and your — your children."

Aragog had curled in on himself in apparent fear as she spoke. This monster was like some kind of Voldemort, something so terrible that the mere mention induced panic.

"It's true," he said. "It is true that we would be endangered… the creature that dwells within the school is far more lethal to us… but mostly my children, for I am blind and unable to see it..."

"Unable to see it...?"

"It would still easily kill me..."

"What's its name?"

"We do not speak it."

" _What_ — _is — its — name_?"

"We do not speak the foul name!" Aragog clicked, moving so close that Iris raised the vial and her wand — but Aragog was quicker: with a blow he knocked Iris into a wall. "I was willing to let you go, to let you live, but no friend of Hagrid would come here with threats and tricks and the promise of death."

Her wand slipped out of her unfeeling fingers. "Technically," she grumbled, "it was the promise of blindness." And his own blindness would not stop Aragog from feeling the sting of the mixture. But before she could do it —

 _Agony_.

Aragog had dug a pincer into her back, above her shoulder blade. A part of her wondered, through the haze of pain, why he had done so. She had Bloodroot Poison running through her veins. But as the spider withdrew, she realized that she had never told him that.

"What is this?" he clicked madly. "Your blood is foul!"

Iris fell to her side with a groan. This would be her death. She had finally pushed her luck, had stupidly threatened a giant spider's children, and the price would be her life. But as the seconds passed, she did not find a furious Aragog tearing her apart. His eight legs were clicking away rhythmically, withdrawing into the shadows, shaking, either from pain or something else — she did not know.

Any relief that swept over her was quickly washed away with a withering wave of pangs. She had almost let herself believe that the Bloodroot Poison would combat the acromantula venom, push it out of her system, but it was not to be. It was as though fire was spreading across her back — but only her back; as she lay there, in this dark cave illuminated only slightly by her wand some feet away, she found that the fiery feeling was not spreading any further.

Making it out of the cave was difficult enough. Aragog would not come after her, she knew — he would die, slowly and painfully, especially if his general weakness and initial reaction to her blood was any indication. The phoenix still sang, but making her way toward her would mean running into the spiders, and that would be rather counterproductive.

Staggering upward, toward the border of the nest, her hands and feet growing number — it was becoming more difficult to walk. The plan had seemed so much smarter when she had pictured herself coming out of the forest healthy and unharmed. But she pushed forward anyway, leaving the colony without any trouble — except the trail of blood she left behind for them to follow.

But by the time the colony was out of seeing distance and she felt only a modicum of safety, it was her arms and legs that didn't seem to want to work. Had she underestimated the Bloodroot Poison or was the acromantula venom playing a part in this as well?

She slumped down against a tree, closing her eyes for just a moment — she couldn't help it, even if her mind was screaming to keep them open. The music was growing distant. She didn't know whether the phoenix was simply moving away or if her ears were failing her.

Sleep wasn't an option. Not out here. It could mean the end of her. As some kind of middle ground, she dug through her pockets. She wished to keep her eyes closed, to let the movement keep her from drifting off, but her fingers couldn't feel what they were touching and she was forced to open her eyes to find her black switchblade, which she nearly lost in the grass blanketed by darkness.

She took it and slit her wrists open.

The blood, much to her distaste, didn't flow out. It oozed, thick and heavy. Iris bit off the cork of her Blood-Replenishing Potion, wasting no time downing the entirety of it. Aragog had already ensured enough blood loss.

However, as the moments passed, she did not find herself feeling better. No, indeed, it was the opposite. The numbness stopped spreading, but it did not recede.

Her heart began to hammer.

What if —

But no —

It'd work.

Wouldn't it?

She was soaking the dirt with her blood now, and her heart was pumping awfully fast, surely pushing the poison out. Was she not bleeding out at a fast enough rate?

What had she gotten wrong? Why was sleep creeping further up on her with every passing moment?

"Oh god," she muttered, Transfiguring a few leaves into bandages. She wrapped her wrists in them as quickly as she could, using a Shrinking Charm to tighten them, and attempted to get up. But the amount of effort it took to simply speak seemed almost too much for her, and standing up now seemed impossible.

If only McGonagall hadn't confiscated her broom... She knew she shouldn't have pushed her luck with her disregard of rules, house points, and detentions. It was perfectly fair for McGonagall to have gone after her broom.

She fell back against the tree and though she was sure she was dying, there was still enough left in her that she heard the tree groaning, felt the tree moving, and sensed the tree flow with magic.

Or maybe her dying mind was playing tricks on her.

It did not matter.

For any further thoughts were swept away by a sudden wild wind, the searing sting of where the pincer had pierced, and a descent into darkness.


	3. The Dreamlands

**Note:**

Hope you enjoy the chapter! Leave a review!

* * *

 _Chapter Three_

 _The Dreamlands_

Iris woke with her heart beating.

She had drifted about in a half-slumber amidst the remnants of pleasant dreams when they were swept away, memories surfacing to take their place: the forest, the spider, the poison, the dying.

Then came the sweet, overwhelming relief of being alive. It nearly broke her self-made promise, that she would never again cry. A silly promise, perhaps, but a stubborn one; made before Hogwarts, before she had known of magic and its wonders and its horrors. It was stupid, she knew. Illogical. Unhealthy, even. But she hadn't cared.

Though she wouldn't altogether bury the trauma, she still refused to give it her full attention. And she certainly wasn't going to cry about it. She'd remain quiet, for Madam Pomfrey had an uncanny way of detecting even the slightest of sounds and movements. Perhaps she took a Super-Hearing Potion regularly. Perhaps she had some kind of detection spell set up. Perhaps that was why the magic of the hospital wing felt like the web of a diurnal spider, a sensitive sway in the midst of night and a delicate drone during day, magic that did not hum elsewhere in the castle —

Magic that she could not feel now.

Iris opened her eyes. The ceiling of the infirmary might as well have been drawn on the back of her hand with how many times she had woken to it, and _this_ , this looked nothing like it.

Above her were layers of leaves, swaying and sweeping across the ceiling with the gentle breeze; beyond the windows and white walls of stone shone a sky like either twilight or daybreak: warm gold on the horizon, bright blue stretching up and far, and pastel pink painting the clouds.

There came also faint singing from afar, something just as splendid. The song was slow, almost like humming, and with each breath her concern diminished and was replaced by calm, for the air was fresh and rejuvenating, the sky a sight to behold, and the singing melodious and otherworldly.

Clouds passed — pink, white, gold, blue — and with them so did time. Iris let it.

No evil would befall her here; her wand was at her bedside, her wrists were without a scratch, and her heart still beat. Whoever would come to check on her would have had plenty of time to hurt her. She would let the answers come to her; of how she came to be here and where here was.

Mountains seemed likely. Most of what lay below the horizon remained unseen from where she looked on, only a sliver of land telling her it was indeed the border of earth and sky. But would the wind in such a high place not be colder? The air thinner?

But of course — not if one had magic.

Yet, after what seemed like half an hour, both her curiosity and confusion grew. No one had come for her, and the sky still stayed as it was, never fading.

Iris turned over in bed, carefully, so as to test herself. There was some soreness, but her limbs worked, her bones didn't ache, and she was alive. _Alive_. In her excitement she leapt out of bed —

And then the pain came.

Her back seared with it, right where Aragog had bitten her, not as terrible as when it had happened but enough to weaken her knees. She took a deep breath and used the bed to push herself up, grabbed her belongings from the bedside, and from there she moved slowly to one side of the room, where wooden doors stood ajar, guarding what looked to be a balcony.

Before she reached them, though, a voice spoke behind her.

"So you've awakened," it said, holding something Iris could not easily place: amusement, perhaps, or thinly veiled excitement; regret, maybe, or a longing finally satisfied.

It was a testament to the soothing nature of wherever she was that Iris did not jump in surprise. She merely turned her head to look at the woman; young and beautiful, hair long and black, robes elegant and blue, the bell sleeves trimmed with soft gold. She reminded Iris of Dumbledore, oddly enough, in the way she stood tall and proud, radiating power despite her apparent physical vulnerability.

"I must admit," she continued, "I was quite surprised to have Avalon bring a fellow witch here."

"Avalon?" It took Iris a moment to work past her beauty and remember the name. "Right." She wasn't quite sure how to ask who the woman was without sounding rude, so to break the silence she settled for: "Er — thank you. For the help, I mean. If you did help me. I'm assuming it's you. And that I needed help. I'm Iris."

"Oh, I know," said the woman, not reacting to her bumbling. "And you may call me Morrígan."

"Ah. Whole Girl Who Lived thing reaches here, does it?" Iris waved vaguely toward a window, which showed her nothing but rather large leaves outside. "Wherever here is."

"I'm afraid I don't know what the whole 'Girl Who Lived thing' is," said Morrígan. "I don't much venture outside my home, you see."

"Then —"

"I'm sure you have many questions, but I think it best we get off our feet first, sit down, perhaps have some tea. Though I've stabilized your wound, I've not healed it, I'm afraid. Best not to upset it."

Iris closed her mouth, frowned, but nodded.

Morrígan moved past her, opened the balcony doors, and stepped outside. "Come."

Iris followed, her shoulder aching. And she was glad the balcony had a table and chairs, for above and past the balustrade lay a sight that took away what little breath her short walk had already cost her.

She beheld tall, thin mountains, like stone fingers of enormous giants reaching toward the sky, all topped and covered in white buildings with red roofs, looking like vertical villages, and trees of pure white bark and mint green leaves; and these villages were housed by people, their skin varying shades of green.

Dryads, if Iris was correct, though she had thought them to be on the verge of extinction.

Below, rivers of turquoise water weaved through and around the mountains; on their banks were small patches of sand, and beyond them forests, and there trees moved about, as though they had minds of their own; and even under the bright sky the water glowed with lights that rested beneath; villages there too, it seemed.

There was something mystical in its magnificence. It was as though it had been crafted by her imagination, to be as divine and beautiful as she could ever hope a place to be.

"Neat, is it not?" said Morrígan from one of the two chairs, which were tall and comfy looking. Behind her there was no balcony railing, but instead a great leaf, which belonged to one of the largest trees Iris had ever seen. Further around the corner were branches thicker than the trunks of oak trees, and when Iris leaned over the railing, she saw that Morrígan's house — for whose else could it be? — was not resting on a mountain, but on the colossal tree itself.

"Neat...?" said Iris faintly, and then she laughed. "Where are we? This isn't just a dream, is it?"

"Not quite."

"Hm." She sighed as she settled herself on her own chair, which she had a bit of trouble getting up on. "Thought not... too pleasant..."

"And as for where we are, it has many names that it has gained throughout time," said Morrígan, and with a wave of her hand, two cups of tea appeared on the table between them. "Tír na nÓg, Elysium, Annwn —"

"The Dreamlands?"

"Indeed." Morrígan tilted her head. "So it is somewhat a dream, I suppose. But rarely has a witch or wizard come here, for though it is a realm of everlasting youth, it is only so for some. For most, this place will age them greatly, which is why our conversation shan't last long. Already those back in your home may be missing you."

Iris stared at the woman, her mind whirling.

"You needn't worry," said Morrígan. "Once you leave, you will only have aged some months, and I think you'll find it not such a troublesome thing." She nodded toward Iris's cup. "Drink."

"Right..." Iris raised her cup to her lips and drank, looking out into the sunset that didn't want to end. "Is that sky real?"

"It is. Though it was not made as you might think."

Yesterday's words came back to her. "Not through collision of celestial bodies," she murmured, "but by the great magic of the most powerful of ancient times long past."

Morrígan peered curiously at her. "Certainly an apt description."

"Doesn't Singapore have a place like this?"

"Pardon?"

"Singapore," Iris repeated. "They almost completely separated themselves from muggles, right? Took a small island, magically expanded it, and all wizards have to live there if they want to be a part of the magical world."

"I've never heard of it," said Morrígan. "And they do not age? Time stays still for those there?"

"Well, no." Iris was fairly certain she'd have heard of that particular feature of magical Singapore. "Think they still age the same. Is that why the sun isn't going down all the way?"

Morrígan looked out to the horizon. "There is no sun. Only four great lamps — magical, of course — set in the four corners of the land, only dimming when I allow it."

"Yeah, don't think Singapore has that either."

"I should think not," said Morrígan, sounding a bit haughty. "It was no easy task, creating this place. A sunset might always bring with it the promise of a new dawn, which is a pleasant thought, but here was created a sky that does not need such sayings, for night never comes. It was created as a place of paradise. It is dusk, dawn, and day, altogether, always." Once again Iris was reminded of Dumbledore, in the way Morrígan spoke, full of confidence and flowery words, yet a little over the top in it all. "And to make it so that all my children and I live eternally here, completely unaffected by the events on Earth — I'd be most surprised to see anyone but those here in the Dreamlands now replicate it."

Iris looked over Morrígan with a suspicious eye; she looked rather young to already have several children. "There's a lot more people than just them, right? I mean, I thought I saw dryads."

"Yes," said Morrígan. "And they are mine. All of them."

Iris stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward and looked toward the nearest mountain, catching sight of some of them — all women, all varying shades of green, all with odd hair, none resembling Morrígan in the slightest. Not at this distance, at least.

"What'd you do, shag an extremely sappy tree?"

Morrígan looked as though she didn't know whether to laugh or to scold Iris, her eyebrows having shot up in surprise but her lips gaining the slightest curve. "What language. And I'm afraid it's quite a tale."

"Why, does it involve two trees?" said Iris, unable to contain herself. "A treesome?"

Morrígan grimaced. "Terrible, Iris, truly terrible." She hid her smile behind her cup, but her tone betrayed her amusement. "It really is too long of a tale, and you have already slept much. I'd like to place you back in bed, to let you further rest, but I don't much see the point anymore." Then, as an apparent afterthought, she added, "And I wouldn't mind a conversation until we finish our tea."

"I like you better than Madam Pomfrey already," Iris muttered.

"Your healer? Do you not worry your own will trouble themselves over your absence?"

"Not really. Maybe." It wouldn't be the first time she had missed classes or was unable to be found, and the professors had begun to trust she hadn't gone and killed herself whenever she disappeared; fools, apparently. "So, you stopped me from, well, dying?"

"I did," said Morrígan heavily. "I healed the poison within you quite easily, and the bruises, and the cuts, but the bite wound on your back resists my full treatment. I've never encountered such magic, and I've encountered much magic in my long life. I'm not sure what you did to yourself."

"Acromantula."

"Acromantula?" Morrígan repeated. "What is it?"

Iris frowned. "I didn't want to say anything about your _long life_ , but if you don't know what acromantulas are, I'm not so sure you've encountered much magic at all."

"On the contrary," said Morrígan, her tone light, "I've lived so long, never leaving my Dreamlands, that there must be many things I must not know. In my younger days, magic was always being improved upon; I can only imagine what new spells, creatures, and potions exist now."

"Right," said Iris, too busy searching her mind for what little she had read about acromantulas to say any more. She knew they were man-made, but they certainly weren't recent. There had been something about the Ministry dealing with them when they first showed up, and the Ministry hadn't existed before the eighteenth century, which meant if Morrígan didn't know because they were after her time...

"So what are they?"

"Hm?" said Iris, coming out of her thoughts. "Oh, spiders."

"Spiders?"

"Well, big spiders."

"Ah."

"Like too big to fit comfortably on this balcony," Iris added. "I was bit by one."

Morrígan only nodded, as though everyone of note had eventually been bit by a giant talking arachnid. Iris couldn't blame her. She herself was taking the fact that Morrígan might be hundreds of years old rather well; one learned to take these kinds of things in stride when living in the magical world.

"And you retaliated?" said Morrígan.

"What, bite back?"

" _Struck_ _back_."

"I suppose so." Iris drank more from her cup, and then watched it refill itself. "Why?"

"Curiosity," said Morrígan. "Avalon brought you to me when you were already too far deathly, so I can only assume it was not an immediate escape. She herself seemed quite distressed, especially so at being unable to help you herself."

"She's a phoenix, right?" said Iris. "Avalon?"

"Oh yes."

"Can't phoenixes cry? I mean, cry healing tears? Dumbledore — he's my headmaster — he said that Fawkes — that's his phoenix — has extraordinary healing powers. I think. Well, I'm not really sure — I wasn't paying much attention — was a bit busy trying not to get sent to — well, nevermind."

Morrígan raised her eyebrows but didn't push. "Phoenixes do indeed cry. Avalon, however, no longer does."

"Oh," said Iris. "Why?"

"Because she has wept enough." Morrígan gave a sad smile. "When a phoenix loses their companion, they may cry for many days, and in doing so will lose the ability to shed any tears. Yet she still grieves, singing from time to time a lament for the Lady of the Lake."

Iris had nothing to say to this. Morrígan looked to be attempting to read her thoughts, which were that of Avalon and her mysterious, infrequent, watchful visits. It seemed she had a potential explanation now; perhaps Iris closely resembled Avalon's old companion, or was a descendant.

"I would like to ask of your wrists, however," said Morrígan. "I'm curious of the full story, and I'm sure you won't mind looking a little older than you are."

Iris didn't mind, and for a moment she let herself fantasize about finally taking the lead in the unspoken contest in her dorm regarding who was the most developed (she was fairly sure Lavender was cheating with some liberal application of the Engorgement Charm). So, she spilled. Not the whole story — she didn't even mention the Chamber of Secrets by name — but enough to explain the main question: why she had done what she did. Morrígan took it all with casual acceptance, again as though it made perfect sense for a twelve year old to get herself involved in all this nasty business.

Iris received a different reaction only when she explained her plan with the Bloodroot Poison. Morrígan's features didn't become disbelieving, or angry, but instead were of a kind of fond exasperation.

"Might I ask," she sighed, "what year you are in, Iris?"

Flustered a bit, Iris forced out, "Second..."

"Do they not teach the nature of magic at Hogwarts anymore?" said Morrígan. "Bleeding out a magical poison, how absurd."

Iris pushed down the surge of embarrassment that rose within her; it wouldn't be fair to become upset with the one who had saved her, especially when her plan clearly _hadn't_ worked.

"Why is it" — Iris struggled for a second — " _absurd_? I used a Blood-Replenishing Potion to —"

"Come, Iris, surely you've learned of just why magic reigns supreme? Of how one mustn't expect to fool it?"

Iris gave an honest shrug. "I dunno, I've never really cared much for why it does what it does. I mean, sometimes I need to learn the theory to be able to cast the spell, but even then you hardly ever have to understand the —"

"Yet," Morrígan interrupted. "You've hardly had to _yet_. The spells which have been taught to you up until now are not nearly as complex as those you will learn in the coming years. Not unless the Hogwarts curriculum has changed drastically since I last taught there."

"But those years aren't here — _yet_ ," said Iris. "Why is it such a big deal that I —"

"Why is it such a big deal that a young girl like yourself goes gallivanting in deadly forests without the proper knowledge of that with which she meddles?" Some of Morrígan's frustration leaked out, and with it so did her odd, archaic way of speaking. It was enough to make Iris pause in her retort.

"I wasn't _gallivanting_ ," she said after a moment of silence, and then she let another hang in the air as she processed what else said Morrígan. "You used to teach?"

"I did. And now I will again." Morrígan took one last long drink from her cup, then held it out in front of her. "If I place an Unbreakable Charm on this cup," she said, "and I then dropped it from here, letting it fall all the way down, would it break?"

"I suppose not."

"And if I were to drop a mountain on it?"

Iris frowned. "No, it'd still hold. It's meant to be unbreakable. You could throw it in the sun and it wouldn't — well, it might melt, I suppose, but —"

"No," said Morrígan, "it wouldn't. If it is meant to be unbreakable, then it will _be_ Unbreakable — so long as the spell is done right, of course. You will not bypass this with semantics, or a technicality, or some loophole. If the sun is not magical — and I'm not entirely sure if it is or isn't — then it will survive." She then raised her wand, which had appeared out of thin air, and pointed it directly at the cup. " _Reducto._ "

The cup was reduced to pieces.

"Why?" Morrígan asked simply.

"Because you used the Reductor Curse on it, which makes things" — Iris waved an impatient hand at the cup — " _do that_."

"But was it not Unbreakable?"

"Only to anything not magically more powerful than —"

" _Precisely_ ," said Morrígan. "So why is it that bleeding out a magical poison would have worked?"

Iris opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Morrígan restored the cup. "Fool." She said it casually and playfully, but Iris couldn't disagree. She _was_ a fool. For all her high marks in class, her confidence in being amongst the top of the year, Iris had almost died out of complete and utter foolishness — her own fault — suicide by stupidity.

The Bloodroot Poison was a magical poison. It didn't matter if she was bleeding out the poison.

Magic was magic.

And she _knew_ this. They had drilled it into her brain, that the witch or wizard must trust their magic, trust it to do what they ask of it.

It didn't care for any logic, for muggle methods, for her arrogance and forgetfulness. Magic loved to work on a conceptual level. If a spell, potion, or poison was meant to do something, it would bloody well do it, and only other magic, more powerful magic, could override it. The Bloodroot Poison was meant to poison her blood. Nothing so mundane as bleeding it out would stop it.

The Blood-Replenishing Potion might've given her clean blood, but likely only temporarily — or maybe it only replicated her existing blood, which had been poisoned at the time, and using it only quickened her dying; or maybe that was all too mechanical of a way of looking at it and there was another explanation. Either way, she had needed a magical antidote, not a mundane solution, however logical it had sounded at the time, because this was _magic_ she was dealing with.

Iris leaned back in her chair, feeling immensely stupid.

"Oh," she said.

" _Oh_ ," Morrígan repeated, unimpressed.

"So I —"

"Would have died in the forest if not for Avalon, yes."

"Suppose I should thank her, then."

"Perhaps," said Morrígan, not looking at her.

"How did she even know where I was?" Iris asked.

Morrígan remained quiet for a moment. "Though not quite as alive as those here, the Forbidden Forest's trees do still live more so than your normal tree."

"You know, I knew the Forbidden Forest was magical and all that, but I didn't think it was magical _like_ _that_."

"Like what?"

"Well, I mean, as though it was _alive_."

"There is more to everything, Iris. Even the chair you sit on, utterly non-magical as it is, still holds information beneath the surface."

"Like what?" said Iris, repeating Morrígan's own words, though hers held disbelief rather than patient curiosity.

"Like who sat in it before you, or whether it was made by Transfiguration or manual labor."

That didn't quite make sense, though. "Wouldn't it be magical if it was made through Transfiguration?"

Morrígan shook her head. "Objects created through magical means are not inherently magical —" she waved a dismissive hand "— not unless you enchant them, of course."

Iris looked down at her chair, as though there might be words etched on it that would tell her of the last person to sit on it. There weren't. She didn't understand fully what Morrígan was saying. A little bit, yes, a faint understanding that only _just_ suspended her disbelief, but the more she tried thinking on it the more she befuddled herself.

How in the world would an utterly mundane chair know who sat in it last? If it was enchanted, very well, but it wasn't, so it couldn't.

"Everything in the universe leaves traces," said Morrígan when Iris did nothing but scoff. "One just has to know how to find them. Why do you think duplicated potion ingredients don't work? It is because magic _knows_ , Iris. It knows they are not natural ingredients." Iris understood that, but she was still somewhat skeptical, and it must've shown, for said Morrígan, "You've surely been to the hospital wing on more than one occasion, no?"

"Er —"

"The Healer at Hogwarts — you've no doubt seen her perform spells that let them determine what precisely is wrong with you, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Such spells work on muggles — most magic does — and muggles are not magical. How would a spell find out anything about a muggle? Where would it pull the information from? Does it not have to be there in the first place to be retrieved?" As Iris took a moment to absorb all this, Morrígan added, "That's the most popular theory amongst magical scholars, at least. I suppose you could believe the magic looks through the past to find the proper things it must know, but I've never been much of a fan of time magic."

"And how does one use that magic?"

Morrígan shrugged. "I don't know if it can be caught. It's not quite understood, you see, as few have managed to grab hold of it — in my time anyway. It is one of the very few realms of magic where magical theory is not necessarily needed."

"Good," said Iris. "Theory drives me crazy. I tried learning the Summoning Charm this year, and was told to read three books on it first. _Three_ _books_."

"Oh, how far you've yet to go! Why, I once had to read seven separate books, each twice, all to learn two spells. Rather useful spells they were, though... Well, this magic might be even tougher to learn, depending on the person learning it, and it requires them to learn it themselves, through patience and humility, not simple instruction through lessons."

"Humility?"

Morrígan gazed out into her Dreamlands. "The world becomes immensely more complex, boundless, and overwhelming when one realizes even the most mundane objects have something more to them, that everything — quite literally everything — has a story, a history. For some, this is uncomfortable." Indeed, Iris herself didn't much like the thought of being insignificant in this vast universe. "But in order to explore such magic, one must accept their place in the world and not let themselves control magic, but let magic do what it must. Do you understand?"

"Not at all," said Iris.

"You will. I'm sure your Transfiguration professor has taught you to let magic guide you when Transfiguring. One cannot know all the ins and outs of all they create, after all, certainly not the anatomy of living beings, so they must let magic help them along in these regards. It is this, only magnified, that let's me not control it, exactly, but —"

"Hitch a ride, yeah."

"I've no idea what that means, but I think you understand."

This kind of magic that Morrígan spoke of — it seemed exactly like the type that could help her with this Chamber of Secrets business. Yet this kind of effort she needed to put in to learn magic sometimes irritated her. It made sense, of course, but nonetheless, Iris often wished she could just _get to it_.

Then again, if it could be a solution, wouldn't Dumbledore have used it? Or did he himself not know?

It was a bitter thing, the acknowledgement that she didn't yet have what it took to learn something as simple as a fourth-year charm, much less the magic Morrígan spoke of, something obscure and vague.

"Lost in your thoughts?" said Morrígan.

Iris grunted.

Morrígan's lips twitched, and she looked again as though she was putting in some decent effort to keep herself from smiling.

"What? What's so funny?" Iris didn't put any heat into the question, but Morrígan's not-so-subtle smiles and glances were itching at her. "Is there something you're not telling me? Is this even real or am I really just dreaming? Am I dead? How are you supposed to be the mother of dryads? How old are you really? You're not gonna eat me or something, are you?"

"My apologies," laughed Morrígan. "Oh, I've forgotten the impertinence of youth. How I've missed it." She sighed. "But no, I'm not going to eat you." Iris didn't fail to notice she hadn't answered her other questions. "However, the Dreamlands has been eating away at your age. I think, now that you've finished your tea, that it is time to go."

"Convenient," Iris grumbled.

"Indeed," said Morrígan, rising from her chair and holding out her hand. Iris grasped it and slid down from her own seat, careful to not upset her back. "When you get back, do visit the hospital wing. Don't tell your matron what bit you. Instead let her diagnose you, and try to get a feel for the spells she uses."

Morrígan guided Iris not back inside but to the leaf beside her chair. Without hesitating, she stepped on it, and pulled Iris on before she could protest. It sagged only slightly under their weight. Slowly, steadily, the leaf began to move downward. It wasn't the fastest mode of transportation, but it gave Iris more time to look around. The leaf's enormous tree had strange bark, the patterns not random but of glowing runes and other curious little symbols.

"This place is so cool..." Iris liked Hogwarts, but she preferred nature to castles.

Morrígan looked her up and down. "Is it? I find the temperature quite nice myself." The leaf touched the ground, and Morrígan stepped off. "Come."

"It's slang, old lady," said Iris, following. Down here the normal-sized trees moved, twisting and turning, brushing their branches with each other. One bowed to Morrígan. Iris would have loved to spend her summer in a place like this, so wonderful and fey. "Is there really no way for me to stay without aging...?"

"Well, certainly not now you've called me an old lady." Morrígan sent a smile at Iris, but then it turned sad. "But no, I'm afraid you cannot stay."

"You sure?" said Iris. "Don't think I didn't catch you refilling my cup so I'd stick around a little longer."

"Don't think I didn't catch you catching me," said Morrígan. "But yes, I'm sure. You cannot stay. Not now."

Iris frowned at her back. "What's that mean? Later? After the whole Chamber of Secrets thing is wrapped up? Well, _if_ it's wrapped up. Hogwarts might close if it isn't, and if it does, I wouldn't mind turning my skin green to be able to hang around. Pretty sure I could pull it off." Iris turned and twisted her arm, picturing it the color of leaves, then looked up. "What do you think? Think I'd —" She cut herself off when she noticed Morrígan had gone pale. "Miss — er — Morrígan?"

Morrígan turned sharply to her. "Salazar's Chambers have been reopened?"

"Did I forget to mention that?"

Morrígan gazed off into the distance for a long moment, so long that Iris was becoming a bit unnerved. Finally she said, "You cannot stay. You must return to your world and put a stop to the basilisk."

Iris startled. "What — ?"

"Close Salazar's Chambers," Morrígan continued, placing a hand on Iris's shoulder and guiding her to a nearby tree, different than all the others in the sense that its branches began at the very bottom of the trunk. "Close it, block it off, make sure the basilisk may never leave again. Leave it where it is, and do not disturb it. Do you understand me?"

"It's —"

"Do you understand, Iris Potter? We don't have time for me to explain — just shut the Chamber and make sure it is never opened again. I know not where it might be, for too long it's been and places move in Hogwarts... Find it. Collapse the caves and tunnels if you must."

"Yeah! I get it," said Iris. "It's not a basilisk, though. I've already checked, no one's been killed, only Petrified —"

"I've never learned the full details," said Morrígan, "but I am quite certain it is a basilisk. No, do not interrupt — they live for hundreds of years, they can only be killed by the crow of a rooster, and _spiders flee from it_."

Iris's retort died in her mouth. "But — but..." _No one had died_.

Except for the roosters. And the spider she had killed, which had been terrified of Salazar's monster. And she remembered now the carvings of a large serpent inside Aragog's cave. It made sense, really, for a creature of many eyes to be terrified of one that kills with its own.

Morrígan sat her against the tree, and as the low branches began to bend and embrace Iris, Morrígan placed a hand on her cheek, smiled sadly, and wished her good luck.

The roosters, the spiders, and the walls! If it was a basilisk, it would make sense that she, a Parselmouth, would understand it and hear it as it slithered inside the walls of Hogwarts. Though that didn't make much sense, Iris brushed it off — it was magic, and if she could walk down some steps from the second floor in the castle and end up coming out on the fifth, was a snake between the walls so unbelievable? It seemed so obvious now.

"This will not be goodbye forever," Morrígan also said, and then she disappeared from Iris's vision as the branches closed in all around her. Iris was too busy with the revelation of the basilisk to say anything in return, or to protest the uncomfortable darkness swallowing her.

* * *

 **Note:**

So in canon, Dumbledore doesn't just cut off his hand to rid himself of the curse from the Horcrux Ring. Presumably because it wouldn't actually do anything. That's partially where I got the explanation for Iris's solution to a magical poison not working.

If there are any questions you have (about this story, its summary, where this story is headed, etc) then feel free to ask these questions in a review or private message. I'll be more than happy to answer them. Reviews and messages are welcome, appreciated, and encouraged. They are the greatest motivation for me to continue writing.


	4. Left Behind

**Note:**

Chapters are coming slow, I know. We'll be leaving the canon stuff behind soon. Thanks to vlaai and vlad for betaing.

* * *

 _Chapter Four_

 _Left Behind_

Iris tore through the forest, excitement flooding her. Scant sunlight shone through the treetops, just enough for her to run with abandon. Her wand was clutched in her hand, unused but ready; her haste was partly fueled by the want to get as far away from the acromantulas as possible, though at the moment she felt as though she could have taken on the basilisk herself.

She would not, however. Her foolish adventures were quite done now, and for once she would leave it to the adults. If they failed anyway, then so be it. The talk with Morrígan had opened up a new acceptance within her when it came to Hogwarts closing; there were other places that were just as magical — and though Beauxbatons was inconvenient and not her first choice (it was the French, after all), the school would gladly take her.

Just before she burst out of the forest and into the grounds, she slowed herself. There was one thing she wished to confirm. A thick tree stood tall some feet away, and curiosity moved her legs for her.

These trees had saved her. Avalon the phoenix had known where to find her dying body because of them. It meant they could speak, didn't it? Communicate, at least... Yet as she stood there, it seemed like a perfectly normal tree. Her sensitivity to magic had dulled somewhat over the last two years — living in Hogwarts did that — but surely she would still be able to feel _something_.

"Humility," she said to herself, and she gulped, as though physically swallowing her pride. No matter how silly this felt, she had to test it. At least there was no one around to see it. She placed her palm against the tree.

"I — er — I was just wondering, you know..." And so she talked. About the Chamber of Secrets, of the dangers that lurked within the ancient halls of Hogwarts, of the disappointing amount of information she had regarding the matter, of how desperate she was for answers, and so on... "And then, of course, stupid Hagrid sends me into the forest, and, well..."

For minutes she spoke, her hands pressed against the tree, but nothing happened. Morrígan had provided a few answers already, but some second source of confirmation would go a long way, not to mention a possible answer to just where the Chamber of Secrets was.

She was just about to give up when something did happened: it felt as though a leaf had wrapped itself around her fingers, and then her arms, and then spreading to her neck, her head, and her mind. There were no leaves on her when she opened her eyes — and as soon as she did, she began to lose the connection, and so she quickly shut them.

It came back again, the magic, calling for her attention and consideration, demanding her respect and obedience; yet it was a blissful thing, the way it sang and the way the feeling of leaves washed over her, wrapping her in a cozy cocoon of tranquility that a warm sunset, as wonderful as she found them, never could.

Iris laughed with delight. So the odd little Ravenclaw was right after all. There was something more to the trees here. There was something more to it all: the whispering books, the foulness of Knockturn Alley, Dumbledore's Apparition, the haunting songs of the phoenix, the nearly oppressive nature of the Forbidden Forest's shadows — all of it. Could she _finally_ explore this strangeness that she seemed so connected to? It seemed too easy.

As she pushed further into it, she thought that maybe she wasn't really the one doing all this. Something else was guiding her — guiding her into that which captured her in a sort of trance, and whether it was the tree or the forest or Morrígan herself, lending one final helping hand, she did not know. But it was listening, it had to be, and it wanted to cure her of her curiosity, her questions, her plight.

But what was she expecting? A voice? Perhaps the appearance of a carving in the bark under her palm, telling her how to find the Chamber of Secrets, how to slay Slytherin's servant, how to successfully secure the school's safety, all step by step.

Neither of these things introduced themselves. Instead, Iris was left with a silence where nothing happened, forcing her to open her eyes and glance around, frowning. A real leaf slapped her against her cheek. She brushed it away.

"Er —"

Another leaf, this time blocking her ability to see. Grabbing it and throwing it aside, only for it to be replaced by another, she stared at the tree with her one free eye.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?"

But then she noticed it: the air between the trees was rippling, the branches bending into the wind rather than with it, its leaves ruffling as though they were the feathers of an angry bird.

She listened. There were sounds now: the groaning of a tree, as though waking from slumber; the rustling of leaves, as if irritated at the information Iris had passed on, angered that someone would attempt to harm her; then there was another leaf — two more, five more, ten more — numerous leaves were falling from above and swirling around her as though caught in a whirlwind. Iris could do nothing but look around in wonder.

They began sticking to one another, closing the gaps between each of them until it was no longer a neverending barrage of leaves slapping against her but a leafy serpent slowly and smoothly spiraling around her. It was very clearly meant to be a green snake.

Iris reached out to touch them, but they diligently kept away. "Morrígan — ?"

They left her, with apparent impatience, and moved away. More leaves began falling from above, and when Iris glanced upward, she saw the branches from which they fell shaking. Then she looked back.

There were many more leaves, but the form did not change, not exactly. It expanded. The snake was as thick as the trees whence it came, towering over her, the leaves like scales, its makeshift mouth opening wide.

Iris stepped back, startled. This must be its truer size... She hadn't really considered how large the serpent must've been, but if it was indeed a thousand years old... What a monstrosity.

Then the leaves fell apart, collapsed, and moved no more. The trees had returned to their normal state, dull and largely unmoving. If that was all she was to get, she could only hope it was enough...

A basilisk... thick enough to swallow even Hagrid whole... a thousand year old beast dwelling... dwelling where?

Iris trudged her way back to the castle, thinking on these things, attempting to piece together the clues of just where the Chamber of Secrets might be... She skipped the obvious things, all the conclusions that common sense might bring her to; for if they were easy conclusions, then surely Dumbledore would have thought of and tested them.

But before she could get anywhere, something caught her attention; something rather odd: there was no light from the castle. None at all. And perhaps just as out of place, the great oak front doors were closed. This was all most unusual, for even in the latest hours of the night the doors remained open and there were some candles or torches lighting the hallways and especially the Great Hall, which now looked empty and dark from what Iris could see.

She rushed over to a window and peered inside, but it was so black within that she couldn't even see the staff table. Her heart became heavy in her chest. It might have been past dinner time, but there were usually a good deal of students in the Great Hall even at this time, scattered about, studying or otherwise hanging around.

Iris spun, looking for anybody outside, but saw no one. She leapt down the hill, looking left and right and even up, as if there'd be a giant Quidditch game involving all of Hogwarts. What had happened? Had they all left? What for? Was there another attack? Had they finally shut down the school, before she could even tell them of what she had learned? It would be just her luck.

The first people she spotted were by the front gates. Two figures, one taller than the other, standing in a familiar way. McGonagall? Yes, it had to be, Iris thought as she neared, her heart soaring. Never had she felt so relieved to see the strict Transfiguration professor.

But then McGonagall disappeared into thin air.

"No!" said Iris, panting and slowing down to a jog. "Professor!" The other figure turned sharply, and Iris took a guess as to who the thin woman was. Her large glasses magnified her eyes to the point of absurdity. "Professor Trelawney...?"

Professor Trelawney, it seemed, was even more astonished. "My dear!" she said. "What are you still doing at the castle?"

"What's everyone doing _out_ the castle?"

"Fleeing, of course!" Trelawney said, almost hysterically. "We've evacuated the school, my girl!"

" _Why_?"

"Why?!" Trelawney repeated, this time certainly hysterical. "There's been another attack! Two young girls have been taken, the Lovegood girl and — and..." She trailed off, her eyes growing impossibly larger. " _You_!"

"What?" said Iris, her heart doing yet another sudden dive. Luna Lovegood had been taken? Taken by a basilisk? And what of her, Iris? Did they think _she_ had done it?

"They said Luna Lovegood and Iris Potter have been taken by Slytherin's monster," said Trelawney fearfully, "and Professor McGonagall said it was the last straw. The Ministry ordered an evacuation of the castle, everybody's left, and they're saying the school might remain closed — permanently!"

Of course... She had been gone for a whole day, drinking tea in the Dreamlands while everyone must've thought she had been kidnapped along with Luna. She thought they had learned not to worry, but she supposed under the current circumstances... And, to be fair to them, had she been here and had heard of Luna's disappearance, she would have immediately gone back to the Gryffindor Tower; she knew her limits.

And Luna... Iris had seen the Ravenclaw just yesterday, had refused to talk to her, and now she was deep beneath the school, dead or soon-to-be. Regret piled on top of her already heavy heart.

"Dear, are you listening?" said Trelawney. "Come, hold my arm, I will Apparate the two of us to the Ministry."

Swallowing back the rising sickness, Iris nodded and grabbed Trelawney's bony wrist.

"Now, you must hold tight... and do not let go until we are there..."

Iris briefly considered staying and attempting to find the Chamber to save the Ministry of Magic time — if they were coming, that was. The castle was closed to her, though, and even if she could find a way in, she honestly doubted she could do anything that Dumbledore himself couldn't. So she closed her eyes, preparing herself for the uncomfortable feeling of being squeezed through a tube.

But it didn't come.

Iris opened her eyes, frowning, and looked at Trelawney expectantly. Trelawney was staring up at something in the sky, and Iris followed her gaze...

Moonlight shone in one wing, and the other glinted from the last of the gold in the horizon. Avalon the phoenix soared silently above. And in that moment, something in the air changed. Trelawney went rigid, her eyes unfocused and blank, and her mouth sagged.

" _It begins as the night unfurls."_

Her voice had become metallic and menacing, unfeeling and unnatural. An overpowering sense of dread crept along Iris's spine, like a spider leaving a trail of web, holding her in place, petrified and spellbound.

" _One shall beckon the foul beast; two shall meet as opposites and depart as equals; and three shall die. And the girl who still lives must let darkness claim her, or she shall be forever lost to it. It begins as the night unfurls, and shall end with the death of the Moon."_

Then Trelawney went silent for a moment before coming back to herself.

"I'm so sorry, my dear girl," she said, blinking. "I was lost in my thoughts... long day, you know..."

Iris stared at her, her hairs still standing on end despite the leaving of the magic that had held her in place a moment before.

"My dear, are you well?" said Trelawney.

"I..." began Iris, but Trelawney's terrible voice was stuck in her head, repeating the warnings of death. Professor McGonagall had said something about Trelawney, how unreliable and dramatic the Divinations professor was, but there was something about the way she had spoken that gave Iris great pause. The air had felt magical, more so than it usually was in Hogwarts, and those words had carried a heavy weight to them, as though they were of great importance to magic itself.

She looked up to Avalon, and her glowing blue eyes stared back.

"Dear?" said Trelawney again, looking worried.

"You need to get the others," said Iris, a little shakily. "Professor McGonagall, the Ministry, Dumbledore, bring them back."

"But what of you?" said Trelawney. "You cannot stay! I will Apparate you with me —"

"I'll be fine," said Iris. "Just get the Ministry — Apparate directly there — and tell them that Iris Potter is safe and will be waiting for them."

"But —"

"Luna's dying more every time you hesitate!" _Luna was likely already dead._ "Just go, Professor! I still need to find exactly how to get in, so let me stay and figure it out so the Ministry doesn't have to waste _their_ time."

Trelawney struggled with herself, as though unsure if she would be more irresponsible by staying, leaving a student behind, or Apparating with Iris and leaving Luna for dead. Just as Iris began seriously contemplating the use of an Imperius Curse, she broke.

"Fine!" Trelawney said in despair. "My Inner Eye does not protest... No, indeed, it tells me of a great burden laid upon your shoulders... So be it... But stay outside wherever the Chamber is, please. My dear, promise to not go in, promise to —"

"I promise," said Iris, her heart thumping ever harder at the lie.

Trelawney stared at her for a moment, then nodded and Disapparated away, leaving Iris alone. As if this was exactly what the phoenix was waiting for, Avalon swooped down suddenly and extended her claws. Iris held up her arm, having down this enough with owls. Avalon latched on, and then with a flash like lightning they were gone.

Iris's head spun as she was whisked away from the ground and seemingly into the air — into something — or rather nothing— or maybe it was something — the sky — a storm — electricity coursed through her, nauseating and intense, and before it became outright pain —

It stopped.

Iris fell to the hard ground, heaving. Dirt was no longer below her, but stone.

"You —" she began, barely able to speak.

"What are you doing?" said a girl's voice above her. "The school's been evacuated, you know."

Iris looked up. "Myrtle?"

Avalon trilled from her spot on a stall. Moaning Myrtle gave the phoenix only a curious glance. Iris supposed the ghost had seen much in her fifty years of —

Iris gasped and stood up so fast her head swam.

"Fifty years!" she said. "Myrtle, you died fifty years ago! When the Chamber of Secrets was last opened, right?"

Moaning Myrtle drew back, surprised but pleased at the question. "Yes, of course."

Iris's eyes bulged with incredulity. " _And you never thought to remind anyone of that_?"

Moaning Myrtle lost all sense of joy in the moment, and scowled at Iris from where she floated. "Dumbledore knew, and he came to me about it."

" _And_?"

"And I lied," said Moaning Myrtle simply.

"What?" breathed Iris, unable to believe it.

"I _died_!" said the ghost, swelling up with indignation. "It was the staff's duty to protect the students, and they all failed!"

Iris bristled with outrage. "You — you unbelievable — you wishy-washy has-been — this whole time you could have — right here in the girls' bathroom — and you just —" She gestured wildly with her arms.

"That's right," said Moaning Myrtle. "None of them ever cared for poor, miserable, moaning Myrtle. Oh no, it was only when I had died that I was suddenly important. Hmph!"

Iris's nostrils flared. "Where is the Chamber of Secrets, Myrtle?"

"How should I know?"

"I know it has to be in here!" Iris looked to the phoenix. "Avalon?"

The phoenix gave a low cry, and Iris knew it meant she didn't have an answer either.

"Then why'd you take me here?" she said, annoyed. There had to be a reason Avalon had brought her here... She searched the bathroom frantically, wasting far more time than she wished to... and in time she found a sink, quite like the others except for the copper taps, where on the side was scratched a small serpent.

"Dumbledore didn't see this?" she said, unable to believe it. It was easy to miss if one wasn't looking for it, but had Dumbledore not even tried?

"See what?" said Myrtle.

"The snake," said Iris, pointing to it. "Here."

Myrtle got close, looking directly at the snake. "I don't see anything."

"The snake! Scratched into the copper!"

Myrtle withdrew. "You might need glasses, Iris. It looks fine to me. Though that tap's never worked."

Iris took a deep breath and clasped the sink with both hands. Either Myrtle deserved to be murdered a second time or there was some kind of magic beyond even Dumbledore at play here, something crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself. But it had not fooled her, for whatever reason. Perhaps Slytherin's blood truly ran through her veins.

" _Reveal your secrets_ ," she said in Parseltongue. Myrtle gasped and fled out of sight as the sink sank into the floor. And where the sink had been there was now a large pipe, a terrifying pitch-darkness inviting her to what was perhaps her doom.

For a moment Iris considered turning around and leaving, and waiting for the Ministry to get here so she could tell them what she had found... But as the black hole beckoned to her, Trelawney's words once again came to her mind...

Iris entered the pipe and let darkness claim her.


	5. The Night Unfurls

**Note:**

I'm sorry in advance.

Beta'd by the best, vlaai.

* * *

 _Chapter Five_

 _The Night Unfurls_

The Chamber of Secrets was a grave. Bones littered the ground, crunching clamorously as Iris came crashing in. Avalon swooped through the pipe after her, coming down to rest on her shoulder. Iris grimaced as she pulled herself up and shared a look with the phoenix. If the Heir of Slytherin was here, they would surely hear her coming now.

Avalon's eyes glowed bright blue in the gloom, piercing Iris's own green, and as if reading her thoughts, the phoenix tightened her grip and it felt as if a heavy weight had been taken off Iris's shoulders, replaced by a heavenly lightness. The phoenix lifted her as though it was nothing, and carried her over to safer ground without any remnants of death.

"Thanks," said Iris quietly, and she drew her wand. " _Lumos_."

Now the way was lit. Though she wished she had one of those Hands of Glory to keep her light only to herself. As it was, whatever lurked down here would see her coming. Her and Avalon, for the phoenix remained perched on her shoulder. It was a comfort in this dark, forbidding place.

There was only one way to go, and it was a serpentine tunnel, cavernous and curving. Around a bend she came across an enormous snake skin, its initial appearance startling her so badly she thought she had been Petrified. From its length and girth Iris guessed the basilisk was dozens of feet long, and that it wouldn't even have to chew to swallow her.

She knew she was in way over her head. Her plan for the acromantulas had fallen apart only due to a stupid gap in her memory, but _this_ — buying time for Dumbledore and the Ministry — this was just stupid and she knew it. There wasn't even a plan, really. But she had to try. If there was any chance for Luna's survival and the reopening of Hogwarts, then it had to be done. Trelawney's words carried too heavy of a magic for her to ignore them. Morrígan's advice to collapse the tunnels would be unheeded.

After another bend she at last came to the tunnel's end: a wall with two entwined serpents carved into it. Iris could feel Avalon tense slightly, and she knew the end would be beyond this door, for better or for worse.

" _Open_ ," she said in Parseltongue, and the wall split in two, each half sliding smoothly out of sight.

Avalon hopped off her shoulder, taking flight through the door and above to the ceiling so high that she could not see it. But that didn't mean much. She could hardly see a few feet in front of her, even with her wand lit. The light did not waver, but it seemed reluctant in spreading. It was as though the Chamber liked the dark, didn't want anyone to disturb it, and was maybe waiting until she was just far enough into the Chamber to shut the door and snuff out all light, even from her wand, leaving her in total blackness.

These kinds of chilling thoughts kept her rooted at the entrance for a long moment. Eventually, after somewhat deluding herself into believing she wasn't frightened, she took a step forward. And then another. And so on until her light illuminated stone pillars, carved with more serpents, stretching far up into the darkness. She was sure their eyes were following her as she moved along; eyes full of hatred and rage at her nerve to come here.

There was something evil about this place. She could almost feel it in the air, the oppressive nature of something malicious lurking unseen in the dark. It weighed heavily on her mind, urging her thoughts to come up with the most horrible of things that could happen next. She imagined long, withered, rotting fingers reaching out of the shadows to extinguish the tip of her wand.

A strong chill shot up her spine and through her arms, and she couldn't stand it anymore, the unsettling depravity of this place. She slid behind one of the pillars. There, when there were no longer the sounds of her own footsteps or breathing, she noticed just how eerily quiet it was too.

There was no wind, no water dripping, no footsteps, no anything. Not even Avalon could be heard flapping her wings. Iris wondered if the phoenix hadn't just abandoned her; half the reason she had decided to go after Luna was because she thought the phoenix could pull her out if things went bad. She supposed she would have heard the bird's departure. Or maybe the shadows here absorbed all sound and there was really something horrible going on in the dark, a cacophonous chanting alongside a sacrifice to summon something sinister and —

No, she couldn't let the Chamber get to her like this. There was no time for it. She had decided to go after Luna without waiting for the Ministry. It would do no one any good if she stayed here, her fingers trembling. She had to move forward no matter how bad she wished to flee.

As it was, Iris could hear only her own breathing, quiet and slow through great effort; if only she could slow her heart as well, for it was like drums here in the deep. But it couldn't have mattered much seeing as her wand was still lit. She checked her bag, making sure the Dragon's Delight and Awful Eyeful were still in it. Thankfully they were.

Pointing to the other side of the pillars, Iris gave her wand a little flick. The light left her wand, moving slowly across the center pathway of the Chamber, bobbing slightly as though it belonged to a person walking. When it reached the other side, Iris directed it toward the end of the Chamber. At the same time, she left her pillar and moved up one, and then another, and so on so long as she heard or saw nothing else.

Nothing attacked her or her light. The anticipation was so heavy in her stomach that she almost felt sick with the anxiety. It felt like the pillars would never end.

In a fit of desperation, she flicked her wand hard, channeling as much magic as she could, and her light shot from its spot into the darkness, illuminating a horror as it shone brightly.

An icy terror gripped Iris's heart, its biting cold dripping down her spine and her arms and her legs until she could no longer move from her shock and fear.

Twenty feet off the ground, suspended in the air, her legs and arms spread, her eyes flung open and her mouth stretching into a silent scream of suffering, was Luna Lovegood. Her hair floated about her as if she were suspended in water.

And then her ball of light disappeared and Luna faded from view, only to come back when an unnatural and sickly sort of green shadow came to hang over the place, coming out of nowhere. Something was coming. Luna looked downright demonic now, something beyond the most terrifying of all the horror movies Iris had snuck into.

She rushed forward, intent on pulling Luna down and dragging her out of here, but as she got closer she made out a figure against the darkness beneath Luna. Iris stopped, her heart pounding so hard it might've been at risk of bursting through her chest. And she stared at it, unsure of what to do, until it spoke at last.

"Well, well, well... Iris Potter... come to die..."

Then the figure took a step forward, the darkness clinging to it like a cloak. It reached a pale hand out to her, as if to caress her, but Iris stumbled away.

"Do not be afraid," the shadow said, its menace pulsating with a kind of dark magic. It was as if she was back to her first day at Hogwarts, being assaulted with ambient magic, unable to even think correctly from the foreign sensation she could not explain creeping along her mind.

"Stop," she gasped, clutching her head. Lifting her wand to the shadow, she cried, " _Lumos_!"

Her light shone again, bright and powerful, but it did not reveal anything beyond their already existing circle of sight.

The shadow laughed, a deep and terrible thing. "This is no battle of good and evil, where you can snuff out the dark with light. No, Iris, there is no good or evil at all. There is no light against my _power_."

And the last word echoed, around and around, ringing in her head and clouding her thoughts until fear forced her to her knees.

 _There is no good and evil... there is only power... and those too weak to seek it..._

" _No_..." Iris refused to believe he was here. But the words were so similar and her scar began to burn for the first time in a year. Or was it? She couldn't even tell. The blackness of the figure ebbed away to the edges, revealing a blurry but familiar face.

Tom Riddle smiled. "Are you surprised?"

Iris looked around, sure this was a distraction, that Voldemort was standing right behind her, but she did not see anyone besides him and Luna. She had a sudden maddening thought that she was still in Ginny's malignant diary, and had been this whole time, these past few months being nothing but an illusion.

"Where is he?" she said, pointing her wand all over the place in her panic.

"Where is who?" said Riddle, tilting his head like a curious child.

" _Voldemort_."

"Ah." Riddle's smile grew. "He's here. Frightfully close."

Iris stopped and eyed him warily from her spot on the ground. "What's he done to you? How are you here?"

"Don't you understand?" said Riddle, his smile growing from plain amusement to something crueler. "Not so clever it seems. I was doing so well with her, you know. Poor little Ginny. She told me everything you had told her, of how it was your mother, not you, who had stopped Lord Voldemort. I was so eager to meet you... And you came. You just couldn't resist, could you? But neither could I... A taste of you at last... After all the wonderful and sweet things Ginny had told me of you, how could I say no?"

Iris looked at him in disgust. She couldn't believe that stupid diary was a part of all this. Ginny had come to her about it, pale and anxious, and Iris didn't need Ginny to tell her that the thing was an abomination to the natural world.

"But you didn't like what you saw, did you?" said Riddle, scowling. "You saw my diary for what it was. Perhaps not the complete truth, but you could taste the magic seeped into it. And you didn't like it. You threw the diary into the river by Ginny Weasley's home. After so long, after the years and years in Lucius' home, I had thought I was to spend years more at the bottom of a river."

"Lucius _Malfoy?"_ said Iris, then she scoffed and muttered, "Of course."

"Oh, he was the one to hold the diary for many years," said Riddle dismissively. "And the one, I presume, to have given it to Ginny." He frowned. "Though his timing was wrong. I meant to have the basilisk once more unleashed when Lord Voldemort was already waging war, as a way to destabilize Hogwarts, you see."

Iris didn't really care. She was too busy fuming with the fact that Draco Malfoy's father was the one behind all this. She couldn't believe that little bastard of his was actually somewhat connected to this.

"But maybe I should thank you," said Riddle. "Days after you tossed me I was picked up by Luna Lovegood. Her mind was already so fragile, and she was so lonely. No friends, a dead mother, a failure of a father — really, I thought you would sympathize." Riddle laughed, but this time his laughter was high and cold, unlike what it was before, not quite as menacing but far more cruel. "For weeks I listened to every sad, incoherent ramble, to every imagined problem. In the end, the mad girl was even easier to break than Ginny."

Iris looked at Luna again, guilt crashing down on her until she felt sick with it. The diary lay below her, wide open. Her refusal to talk with the girl had a much more terrible meaning now.

"So my plan resumed," said Riddle. "I would ensnare you, and test your strength against the might of Lord Voldemort."

"So is that what this is about?" said Iris, trying to keep her voice even through her fear and anger. "Some creepy obsession with me and Voldemort?"

"Vengeance," snapped Riddle. "Vengeance, not obsession."

"Vengeance?" laughed Iris bitterly. "For what? You seem to have gotten what you wanted in the end."

"By fortune, yes. But I did not expect you, Iris. I thought you would only come if I killed a friend or two of yours. I picked Ginny, you see."

"Also vengeance?" snarled Iris.

Riddle shrugged. "Imagine my surprise, though, when the Hogwarts Luck struck again and Ginny was only Petrified. I always thought Dumbledore was lying when he said Hogwarts held a special magic made to protect its students, but maybe he was telling the truth."

"It wasn't _just_ Ginny who was Petrified that night, _Riddle_."

"No, it wasn't," he said. "Your other two friends — Ginny's brother and the mudblood — they just happened to be near Ginny, didn't they? Probably to warn her. I didn't expect them. I had meant to kill Ginny. My anger at failing was abated, however, as I had Petrified not one, but _three_ of your friends. I thought that surely Iris Potter would come to me now, seeking revenge."

"And when I didn't?" she said. "Then what?"

"Well, _then_ I would come back, of course. Regain a body, kill you later, and do what I was already planning back when I was young and incarnate."

"Get yourself killed by a child?" said Iris, glaring at the boy who she now realized would have grown up to become Lord Voldemort.

"Figured it out at last, have you?" said Riddle. "But no, Iris, I think we both know Lord Voldemort was not killed. He still lives. For _I_ still live. But I think our fun and games end here. You've stalled long enough. _Kill her,"_ hissed Riddle suddenly. _"Slowly."_

Then Iris noticed a slithering sound from behind her...

She leapt from her spot and dove for the diary, but before she could reach it something slammed into her side hard — a great force of weight throwing her twenty feet to the right, her right arm falling into some pool of water — and she gasped for breath, the acromantula bite on her back flaring up again.

But there was no time to waste — the thing was drawing itself back to strike again — Riddle was laughing — and Iris knew what it had to be. The basilisk lunged for her again and Iris threw herself into the water, using the ground to push herself further down, deep, deep, deep into the black waters of the Chamber of Secrets.

Something came into the water with her, its great weight pushing her away and then the water pulling her back toward it. Iris tried to swim against the sudden current, but she lost all sense of direction.

Then the basilisk's great scales slithered against her as it tried to find her, but it was so dark in the Chamber and nothing could be seen in the water. Iris grabbed ahold of the serpent, hoping it needed to breathe as much as she did.

They struggled and writhed under the surface, and Iris was beginning to run out of air. Then her hand brushed suddenly against something slimy — the basilisk's eye — she clamped down to scratch it out and remove its killing gaze and give her a fighting chance — and then a fang pierced her calf.

Iris screamed, most of her remaining air gurgling out in bubbles. Then she was being dragged through the water, pulled along by her leg and knocking against the wall as she screamed and screamed and plunged further into this nightmare.

Just as she was beginning to feel as though she would pass out from either lack of oxygen or the pain, she burst out of the water, her leg coming off the fang. She crashed down onto the floor, gasping desperately for breath as her wand clattered across the ground. The sound of glass breaking hit her ears before the excruciating pain clouded her thoughts.

Her lungs burned for air... her legs burned from the wound... and then her eyes began to burn too. A sort of mist was in the air, tinted green by the unnatural glow still hanging over the place, and the longer she kept her eyes open the more it began to feel as though a hundred needles were piercing each of them.

She shut them tight. Beyond all the agony, she heard the basilisk cry out, a mixture between a lion's roar and an eagle's screech. Riddle was yelling something, but her eyes were watering from the pain and the mist and she couldn't focus.

Somewhere around her lay her wand, and she threw her hands over the ground looking for it. In her search her fingers were cut on glass and she guessed it was the Awful Eyeful vial that must've broken when she fell, blinding the basilisk and soon her if she didn't get away swiftly.

"Kill her!" screamed Riddle just as one hand of hers found the wand and the other the Dragon's Delight. "Use your nose, you beast!"

Iris turned on her back, breathing hard, and pressed the tip of her wand against the Dragon's Delight — waiting for the basilisk to swallow her whole — not even thinking anymore —

Then the basilisk spoke, its genderless voice echoing around the Chamber with a dark edge.

"A beast..." it said, its voice barely carrying itself to Iris. "He calls me a beast... What would he know? I never asked for this... this wretched abnormality of a destiny, forever cursed to watch those I set my eyes upon fall... an unnatural birth... an atrocity born from the most vile of magic..."

"Then disobey!" whispered Iris. Riddle had stopped his commands and was coming upon them now, perhaps to hear what was being said, perhaps to kill her himself.

"Disobey..." said the basilisk, and a moment of terrible tension hung in the air. "To disobey is to court death."

Iris screamed in anger, opened her eyes to the searing mist, and threw the Dragon's Delight toward the opening maw of the basilisk. " _Incendio_!"

It went off in the basilisk's throat, causing it to falter and only slam against Iris's raised legs. The explosion was so great that flames erupted from its mouth as if it were a dragon, the fire burning away bits of her robes and scorching her skin as she slid with the basilisk to a halt. Iris cried out again in agony.

The stench of burnt skin filled the air. All became silent again except for Iris's heavy breathing. Riddle was not saying anything, and she didn't want to risk opening her eyes any longer. She supposed he'd kill her now anyway, even if her wounds didn't.

Sure enough, footsteps sounded, echoing quietly around her. But they weren't the footsteps of a teenage boy or some dark twisted version of him; they were soft and light, as if belonging to —

"Luna?" said Iris, her voice coming out strangled.

A girlish laughter rang out.

"Yes, I suppose that's me," said Luna, far too casually for the situation.

Iris swallowed hard. Had Luna lost her mind?

"Are you okay?" she said. "Where's Riddle?"

"Oh, I'm wonderful," said Luna. "You aren't, though. You're dying, Iris."

"Can you get help?" whispered Iris. "The Gryffindor Tower — the password's _Medusa_ — in my trunk in the girls' dormitory — second years' — there's an envelope with vials of a red elixir inside."

"What is it?"

"It'll help me. Please, quickly — it's the Elixir of Life — I'll even give you one."

Luna laughed again. "The Elixir of Life? You managed to get your hands on Flamel's Elixir? You are quite intriguing, Iris. But no, I don't think I will get it. Not yet, at least. Not until you're dead, then I'll take them all for myself."

Luna's her voice was more sadistic than Iris could believe. Had she really wronged Luna so deeply? What she had done was rude, but she didn't deserve this horrible fate for it, this cruel and painful death, did she?

"It's probably too late anyway," continued Luna, sounding almost bored. "The basilisk's venom is too deadly. Only your magic keeps you alive now, Iris, and its struggle is becoming ever more feeble. Your mother bought you twelve years, but _I_ got you in the end, as you knew I must... And now so ends the famous Iris Potter. Alone, forsaken, defeated by the Dark Lord she so unwisely challenged."

It was not Luna, Iris realized, but Riddle speaking. She opened her eyes and saw Luna crouching in front of her. There was an unholy glee in her eyes. In _Riddle's_ eyes. Riddle was _in_ Luna.

He held Luna's wand, and Iris's wand had somehow found its way from her fingers to Riddle's other hand. Iris could do nothing but stare, uncomprehending. Despair began to sweep over her in great waves. This was a nightmare... this had to be a nightmare... Voldemort could not be back... She could not be about to die...

"Yes..." said Riddle, pocketing Iris's wand. "I considered coming back in my old body, but Dumbledore would recognize me in an instant. This serves me better. The Lovegood girl still lives inside me, but I'll find a way to get rid of her later. First I'll leave this Chamber and tell everybody of your unfortunate demise. Then I'll be allowed to roam free as I see fit. And I will have the Elixir of Life as well. See the way fate favors Lord Voldemort, Iris." He stood up and raised Luna's wand. "But first, you must die. The venom is taking too long. _Avada_ —"

Iris scrambled backward. "No!"

At the same time Riddle shouted _"Kedavra!"_ there was a trill from above. Avalon swooped down in front of Iris, opened her beak, and swallowed the jet of green light whole. There was a bright flash, a crackle of electricity, a shattering of something wooden, and a dark cloud was left behind, thundering softly.

After her eyes adjusted to the dark again, Iris saw that Luna's wand was falling apart in Riddle's hand. Incensed, Riddle stepped forward and reached for Iris's wand in his pocket, but Iris had some vigor still. With what must've been the last of her sight and strength she had taken her old switchblade and swung it, the enchanted steel flashing and then the wood splitting into two pieces, the front half falling to the ground.

Iris tried to leap at Riddle too, to cut _him_ , but she hadn't the strength anymore. Riddle stepped back anyway, surprised and still holding the handle part of her wand.

"You are full of surprises," he said. "I knew you had brought a phoenix, but I had thought the magic of Salazar Slytherin, at my command, would have kept it busy. It must have been stronger than I thought to break free so soon. No matter. If you wish to die slowly from your wounds, so be it. I only wished to give you a quick death. I still could. You need only ask me. Lord Voldemort is merciful. Half a wand is still good for one more spell."

"Is it?" said Iris quietly, a deep, burning hatred unlike any she had felt before rising up within her. She wanted to rip Riddle apart, put him back together, and then do it again, over and over, for years and years until he was nothing but a whimpering mess. This all-consuming wrath fueled one last act of defiance: she reached for the half of her wand that had fallen to the ground.

"I suppose there's some dignity in taking your own life," said Riddle, watching her, but then Iris pulled the wand up, pointing it at him, and he laughed. "You don't have it in you to kill me, much less the innocent eleven-year-old girl still residing in here."

That was debatable on a good day. Taking Luna's life to ensure Voldemort did not come back would have been a reasonable consideration with a clear and calm mind. Now Iris was full of rage, and her eyes must've shown it, for Riddle stopped his laughter and stared, as if unsure suddenly.

" _Avada,"_ she said, her shaking voice low with fury, and Riddle stepped back, raising what was left of the wand he held, realizing his terrible mistake, but it was too late: _"Kedavra."_

Her arrogance had been her downfall, but his was his own. The Killing Curse struck him in the chest and Luna's body instantly dropped to the ground, her large silver eyes unseeing.

At the same time, anguish came over Iris. The remainder of the wand disintegrated in her hand, and then her hand withered, blackening in a way that Iris felt deep within her. It was two new pains. Something in her had truly broke. Somewhere beyond the physical world and all its pains, it felt as though her very being had fractured, and was now weeping.

Everything hurt. Even her eyes were stinging worse, and Iris realized she must have scrambled back into the mist, or the mist had drifted to her. She took one great breath of air and held it, feeling as though her lungs were seizing up.

The green glow of the Chamber seemed to be disappearing... dissolving into the shadows... But then even the black was gone and she realized what must've happened.

She had gone utterly blind.

And for one nauseating moment she thought she had gone deaf too — it was so completely silent in the Chamber. But then she let out a sob, the sound echoing as she silently wished to die already. Her strength and hope was robbed of her. Death would take her in this cold, miserable place. She collapsed to the ground, and it was as though the thud had shaken the entire Chamber, the final note to her doom.

Bits of her skin was so burnt from the Dragon's Delight that the mere slap of the stone felt like whips upon her flesh. She was burned; she could not see; the venom coursed through her leg, feeling like acid in her veins as it slowly made its way up her body; her right hand felt numb and none of her fingers would work.

And the worst of it all was what had to be her soul. It felt like a shard of ice had formed inside her chest, so cold it burned; or like she was a glass statue and had cracked right through the center in a way that could never be fixed. She trembled, and again it felt as though the ground trembled with her.

Or was that just the ground? No... it was both... The cold was taking her; the cold of the Chamber or the cold of death's embrace, she didn't know. But the ground itself was also shaking. Slightly, but Iris felt it. And then it really shook, and Iris wondered if the Chamber was going to fall apart and on top of her.

Somewhere beyond the suffering she found some humor in it, and she laughed weakly. Was fate so intent on killing her that it would bring down the ceiling over her head too?

The quakes got closer. She could swear they were from just outside the entrance to the Chamber. Not the bathroom's entrance, but the one with the serpents on it, the one that led straight to —

There was a loud explosion suddenly, shaking the ground and rattling her very bones. The door had been blown wide open — she was sure of it, even if she couldn't see. Pebbles rained down, and a familiar magic washed over her.

Iris knew that magic; once something like a fire beneath a veil of calm that could only be forged by great age and wisdom, but now the veil was gone, and the true might of the very first wizard she could remember meeting was upon her, blazing in the dark Chamber as he rushed to her.

Dumbledore had come.


End file.
